Abstract Images
by dreaminadream
Summary: I tried to stay true to who I never was,but his defenses slipped around a heart that didn't want love.My guarded soul and fighting pride led me to the sweet nightmare.The prophecy led us where we couldn’t take it back.We were the tragedy nobody saw coming
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One** -**Cinders of a Dare**

**Disclaimer**- I don't own any of the newsies, the banging you hear in the back of my closet is NOT Racetrack wink wink. Well, I do not own the newsies produced by the creative works of the script writers at Disney, but however I do own any unfamaliar character.

With sunsets color spilt from ethereal pain it devoured his sparkling eye, swelling it shut. Caleb will not have to face this world for at least three weeks, until the greenish-yellow tinge settled, and the blood clogged in his bruise evaporated, and until then he will not have his hands around the neck of the scab that preyed upon him. Bums odds the grafter criminal will already be six feet under the ground. Some are still searching in the torrents of rain for the coward who would dare strike a child hardly of eight. Even as I trace the cloth gently on his bruise, the skin stretched away and swollen to nearly the size of my fist, my fingers itch to find that lowlife and bring him to justice, and only my maternal instincts keep me here. Caleb might never see again.

"Can I go to sleep yet?" he whimpered, wincing as I wiped the blood still dripping from his nose, and he struggled away from me. I hated holding him like this, having the chains of his life in my hands, because I knew what it felt like to never have control.

"Nah, don't ya wanna stay up wid da big kids?" I entreated but I already knew he couldn't sleep- Bryce was terrified he'd fall into a coma, and since he was the only one of us who mildly knew how to heal, I couldn't ignore him. We'd already shaken the boy awake twice, and it looked as if he was engaged in battle with the Grim Reaper's sleep, and Caleb was loosing. Amazing how the kid could sleep through so much pain.

"How come I can't sleep? Micah always sends da boys da bed aftah dey gets in a fight," he whined, again squirming from me when I couldn't tell him the truth. If only Micah were here right now instead of on some godforsaken road, searching for a man he didn't know what looked like, and would hardly be able to see in this thunderstorm.

"Hey look on da bright side. Ya can get people ta do stuff fer ya by making dem feel guilty. No one can say no ta a soaked kid!"

"Dat's not fair!" he protested, his other bright green eye opening wide in astonishment and I gritted my teeth as another cut made itself known above his eye. "I don't wanna do dat ta people!"

"Jist an option," I acquiesced, brushing at his openly bleeding cut as I stared longingly out the only window. The darkness compressed it and the rain pulverizing the glass was the only indication it was storming, but I wanted to be outside in that storm beating that dirty tightwad to within an inch of his life. Caleb was probably the kindest child in existence, and yet he was chosen and beaten grotesquely by forces out of anybody's control. If the universe wasn't careful, Caleb could become somebody just like the rest of us- investing all energy into breaking the laws of the city that had hurt us so infinitely.

"Lisolette." Reluctantly I tore my eyes from the window and looked up into Bryce's anxious face, and only held Caleb tighter. I kicked a crate by us, motioning for him to sit down, but not a single fiber within him moved and he was staring down at Caleb upon my lap with the deepest concern, forcing me to be thankful the young boy wasn't paying the slightest attention to him. "Caleb, we'se got someone ta visit ya. He's gonna make ya feel bettah."

"Who?" His excitement sickened me.

"A doctah."

"An actual doctah came heah?" I asked incredulously and Bryce's warning look only incited me to hold Caleb tighter. "Wad? Ya really expect me to believe some hoity toity doctah came all da way out heah, is coming in dis joint widout sterilization, isn't gonna tell da bulls bout you all, and is gonna help Caleb?"

"Well it ain't some rich doctah but it'll do," he asserted, his eyes icicles at my throat if I continued to undermine his authority. Caleb motioned to take hold of Bryce's extended hand but I pushed my charge's hand back down.

"Bryce, ya know bettah den dat. Its jist some scum playing doctah. He's just gonna hoit him!"

"Bettah den you'se!" he snarled and I reeled back at his stinging blow like I had been physically slapped, but I pushed Caleb from me. Bryce towered over me as I leapt to my feet, challenging him with my eyes but my thoughts were in turmoil; I didn't want to be forced to fight him, especially with the kid watching me, but I needed to defend my honor or forever my reputation would be scarred.

"Let, don't," Caleb pleaded meekly and never tearing my eyes from Bryce I hesitantly pushed the child towards him, accepting the truth. Gratefully he took Caleb by the arm and steered him from me, their footsteps reverberating down the hall until I was only left with silence as a companion. Outside the pressure in my ears boys of every age were lounging and chatting, partaking in this or that game, fighting, and just trying to survive, living their life. Perhaps that is what we all are just trying to do, even the bulls that walk their beat to rid the streets of street rat filth, are just trying to live in this blurred world.

"Weah's Caleb?"

"Wid some cheap ass doctah," I demurred without turning to see my interrogator for instantaneously I realized who it was, his voice distinguishable from the others in placid authority.

"Wad da hells dat supposed ta mean?" he exploded spontaneously, storming towards me and I regarded him with a contemplative gaze until he continued earnestly, "Wads wid yer tone, Let? Da doctah ain't some fraud, is he?"

"Bryce says he ain't…"

"Den he ain't," Micah alleged, exhaling a sigh of relief and I only rolled my eyes, before observing the others returning from their manhunt. "Ya'll are hopeless. Ya jist wasted time looking."

"Don't be so quick to judge, missy."

"Did ya find anything?" I demanded, bristling at being reprimanded

"Not really."

"Ha!" I shouted victoriously and he glowered before it seemed all his strength was sapped from him and he collapsed upon the crate that had just serviced Caleb and me.

"Da woilds screwed," he propounded, rubbing his temple wearily, and I pulled a crate across from him.

"Gasp! Somebody's finally listening to me!"

"I listen," he murmured and produced a single treasure from his pocket, striking a match and the tip flickered to the orange glow I cherished, and hungrily I watched as the ashes fell like fallen warriors. Without waiting for his consent I impatiently snatched it from his thick fingers and placed the cigarette to my lips, inhaling utopia as the nicotine flowed through my veins. Satisfied, the nicotine soothing and calming to my anxiety, I allowed Micah to grab the cigarette back and indulge himself.

"Why don't ya stay heah tonight, Let? Ya can't get home through dis storm."

"I'm fine," I said shortly, foreseeing the heated argument that would rise from the murky depths of what he had just suggested. This night was compressed with emotions and hindrances, and I had to break free of the chains that bound me to these boys and leave them behind, for I could not cope with relying on others for my shelter tonight. Never would I be dependent on this 'gang', and especially not now, when the world was spinning out of control and reality. My imagination stretched to produce an image of the place I claimed as home, the smoke choking my lungs and the soot drenched floor, the room so cramped and moist it was a miracle I was still alive. Yet the furnace produced some heat on those howling winter nights, and whether I wished it to or not the music above often lulled me into sleep and a false sense of security. I had been there four years and still the benefactors and owners did not know I was there.

"Come on, Lisolette. When ya gonna join our ranks?"

"Nevah, you'se know dat. Now stop harassing me before I soak ya and make ya look like a fool in front of yer boys," I threatened, my voice trembling from keeping my voice the ghost of a whisper. He did not retaliate or scowl, but merely closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, driving all intervening thoughts from his mind. I contemplated him, understanding this would not be the last I would be hearing of this. Nearly every week, or whenever I decided to join them to deliver my news and in return gather some of their profits, this fight erupted. It was always the same, ceaseless but he never tired of it, and I knew Micah would never understand my reasoning even if I confided in him. Four years have passed since I first met this gang, but I have always known this group of boys was not a gang and merely children abandoned, governmental statistics, who would only succumb to crime in desperation. Through due course I have watched Micah's rise to power and in return he has watched my own journey's. No matter what darkened path I follow or how far I stray he will always be here, relying on this gang and carrying the responsibilities of their lives, their interdependence a mark of their trusting friendship. He has never understood why I still separate myself from them and choose to live alone, have learned to be by one companion, hardly trusting my own shadow anymore.

"Maybe you'se should learn not everyone's out ta hoit ya," he exhorted suddenly, his eyes snapping open as he snapped into an offensive state of mind and I felt the tendons holding me to calamity breaking.

"Maybe you'se should learn when ta draw da line and back da fuck off."

"It's disgusting."

"Good, just don't vomit on me."

"Why can't ya jist give up da attitude and…"

"Micah!" I beseeched, my last thread to sanity dangerously stretching. "Stop it…please, just _shut up_!"

"Don't tell me to shut up, Lisolette," he growled and the threatening depths of his pale blue eyes sent shudders up my spine, but I squarely met his hardened stare- I would not be dominated over by somebody who eternally places doubts in my head of my own independence, but mostly my own strength. "Look at me. When ya gonna loin dat not even you'se is invincible?"

The silver of the ever present chain at his side clanked against the hard wood as he rose purposefully and sent me a look of utter contempt, before turning his head away from me and marching to the furthest card table at the other side of the room, forgetting I was ever here. Numbly I stared at my hands, at the dirt seemingly permanently etched around my fingernails and the fine lines cracked and torn from the hardships of the streets until they became the inked lines of a novella where such characters existed; invulnerable heroines who were bold, reckless, and courageous, and I would give my life to fall into those two dimensional pages. I knew…I've known for four years, since I was eleven, that I could never be such a girl. But I'd be damned if I didn't try.

Lightening illuminated the window for a nanosecond and I could see the haunting tree branches' shadows dancing in the gale, scraping against the shards of glass. The thunderstorm did not frighten me, I courted it, and the eerie ghosts of my imagination did not influence my decision. Logic, which I hated and if ever given the chance I will fight the abstractness, only chose my path for me. That and the crates and shattered bottles directing my cautious lane towards the card table. The younger boys grinned broadly and waved to me while the elder one's observed my passing with a tip of their hats or a slight nod of acknowledgement, and only rarely did I return such a greeting, my mind intent upon the leader with the cigarette. At least in these lands I wasn't just a wallflower.

"Deal me in," I ordered, shoving Robbie over and I took my place beside him on his crate, directly across from Micah. His icy gaze was unwavering as he studied me skeptically, until a ghost of a smile appeared when with our eyes we came to an understanding. I would stay the night, and only the night, and no further discussion of my life would ensue. As I gathered my cards their course of bad luck ran through my veins, and I knew that soon I would come to regret my decision.

The candle was rekindled as the last raindrop fell, the vibrations of the walls settling under the sky's gray blanket, without the soothing stars and moon, and only the empty oblivion of night. Overhead the younger boys muttered in their sleep, the rustle of them squirming echoing on the ceiling of the first floor, and it was evident some were still awake but nobody rose to tell them off. Whispers encompassed the room, still a dull roar without minding those who knew the significance of sleep, and lazily I traced the knotholes on the floorboard. Sitting had become too dreary, so I lay comfortably upon the floor with others sprawled here and there, all amusing each other until one by one each would be claimed by the sandman.

"Caleb's fine. Doc gave him something ta help him sleep, since it's been too long fer him ta fall inta a coma now," Bryce informed us all, appearing from the curtained room, and a boisterous ripple of relief reverberated throughout the room. He settled behind my head, sitting as he watched me absent-mindedly trace the lines of the floorboards. "He'll make a full recovery. Da doctah was made fer stuff life this, so he won't tell nobody bout us or wad happened. And he's good at wad he does." I knew he was awaiting my response, but I couldn't formulate anything adequate to the relief I was feeling, so I remained silent. "I'm sorry fer wad I said earlier. It wasn't true. I just needed Caleb da visit da doc."

"Fine."

"Spending da night?"

"Yeah, da apocalypse has come," I whispered sardonically but I silenced his chuckles with a distraught look. "Wad was Caleb doing out alone? At night nonetheless."

"He said he was meeting somebody. Won't tell us who," he responded timidly and I knew that the thoughts filtering through his mind were just as ominous as they were in mine. "He's too young ta be sneaking out to see a goil. Micah thinks its cause of Diamond Poison or wadevah dey call demselves dese days. Won't say why…just a hunch, I guess."

"I thought dey had more integrity den ta soak an eight year old."

"They're a gang, Lisolette, they'll do wad dey have ta to survive."

"You would nevah do something like dat," I pointed out and he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Well, we'se ain't exactly a real gang, ya said it yerself. You'se more a gang den we are."

I recoiled at the thought of soaking somebody that young, but in an obsolete sense I was a gang of my own, and vividly I was taken back to that day's survival. Whatever it cost to survive I've probably committed the crime, pick pocketing or thievery, blackmail, fighting my way through this abyss, just to live through the day. Of course, I hardly cared anymore if I lived or died.

"It could've been loads of oddah people besides da Poison's," Micah interjected, formerly deep in conversation with Robbie but close enough to overhear our conversation, and he slumped beside me with a hardened glint in his eye that only appeared in the harshest of situations, in the cruelest of worlds. "It might have just been some random drunk or…"

"A newsie," I chimed in enthusiastically and Micah watched me appraisingly as like lightening I sat bolt upright, eager to endorse on my theory, but from Micah's and Bryce's disbelieving looks I already knew they wouldn't be convinced. "No, listen. Dere sort of a gang and dere everywhere round heah and dey have ta have seen Caleb at least once."

"Don't start, Let," Micah chided but even as he scolded me for my accusations my mind reeled with all the vast possibilities of why the newsies would commit such an unforgivable crime. Perhaps they knew I associated with Caleb, and in vengeance to a grudge formed long ago attacked him, yet both boys seemed to know where I was going before I said another word.

"Come off it, dey wouldn't do something like dat for revenge. Dey don't even know wad ya look like," Bryce argued and I couldn't deny that as the truth in his reasoning. Perhaps those wretched newsies claimed they know who I was, what I looked like, but in honesty they hadn't a clue to my appearance or in passing did not know that I was Lisolette, who had soaked their comrade near death many moons ago. Two years ago was that awful occurrence, and that would be the one fight that I'd forever regret, his bloody image heaped to the gutter still a vivid memory. The news had spread like wildfire, and my associates had quickly learned that I was shunned from the society on the streets, and that despite my gender if ever I was caught my punishment would be severe. Even if the fight had never occurred, the newsies would still wish me dead.

"Lisolette, I know ya aren't exactly fond of da newsies but dey aren't like dat," Micah tried to calm me but he knew the blaze in my eyes would not be doused until I had tired of my theory.

"You two come off it. I mean, da newsies lie and cheat ta sell their papers. Even if they don't want revenge, Caleb could have heard something dey want kept quiet of know something they wanna know. We just don't know wid dese newsies."

"Let!" Micah said sharply, and my words fell from my mouth at the fury quaking in his voice. "You'se know we'se know da newsies, and we know dat dey'd nevah do something like dat. We'se all on good terms, even friends, so don't be tawkin bad bout me friends especially cause ya don't even know dem! Stop judging dem fer yer own stupid mistakes."

I glared at him fiercely for I would never back down, and I will never have him come to see that I knew I was wrong in presuming the newsies were those who had preyed upon Caleb. But I knew the mischievous glint in his eyes well and he avoided my penetrating look, turning to Bryce who seemed confused but ready to follow his leader into whatever depths Micah was plotting on falling into. My stomach fluttered and twisted itself into a knot as I prepared for the worst. I had known hours before that I would come to regret agreeing to spend the night in the warehouse, yet I don't ever seem to listen to that nagging voice in the back of my head.

"Ya wanna make dis a hell of a lot more interesting?"

"Make wad more interesting?" I demanded, rising to the challenge almost without hesitation, and my curiosity gnawed when he paused dramatically.

"Ya don't know da newsies at all. We do. Ya can't take spending more den a night not on yer own. Ya insulted us all by accusing da newsies. So maybe ya should see things from our point of view."

"And how am I supposed to do dat widout getting a sex change?"

"Nah, she'd nevah go fer it," Bryce piped up, and I looked anxiously between the two, too absorbed in whatever scheme they were hatching. I nearly shook him and cried out for whatever I'd never go for, but I resisted. I shrugged as if I truly could not care less, but Bryce caught my eye and I couldn't tear my gaze away. "She ain't brave enough."

"Screw it," I snapped. They knew they had me.

"You should…No, I dare ya," Micah began, his grin widening as I prepared myself for the executioner. "I dare you'se ta go live wid da newsies. Fer at least a fortnight."

"Have ya lost yer mind?" I shouted, leaping to my feet and anxious heads snapped towards us, eager for some drama and gossip. Bryce hauled me back to the ground as Micah told everybody off for not minding his own business and properly chastised they continued whatever they were doing, but their ears were still trained on our conversation. Leaning closer, the three of us putting our heads together, I repeated, "Have ya lost yer mind?"

"No, doll, I'm perfectly sane," he retorted with a cocky smirk that I longed to brush from his face. He was daring me to do the impossible, because even if I joined the newsies they would never accept me. "Wad? I thought ya wanted some adventure in yer life. Well, dis is it. Wads a mattah? Can't take it?"

"I can take it just fine, thanks," I hissed, my voice shaking from the strain of whispering when really I wanted to scream and shout and create a huge production. "And how am I supposed to do this? If I did join them wad makes ya think they'd accept me? After wad I did?"

"Dey won't know its you'se," Bryce chirped enthusiastically, thoroughly enjoying himself at my discomfort. I was nothing more than an injured wild beast backed into a corner with nochance for survivalbut to fall into their trap. "Dey don't know wad ya look like, remember?"

"You'll create a new name, ya don't even have to create a story or nothing. You'll be yerself in somebody else, if ya get wad I mean."

"Wad are da terms?" I was falling into their bubbling excitement and they smirked triumphantly now, but they knew they had captivated me with their plan from the start, because never do I remember declining a dare.

"Ya have ta stay dere a fortnight. Ya have ta woik as a newsgoil, ya can't be an ass dem, and ya have ta associate wid dem a lot."

"Define a lot."

"Lisolette," Micah warned and I grinned despite myself at his annoyance, fully comprehending what his terms consisted of. He extended his hand to me, giving me a few seconds to fully understand all of the implications of accepting such a dare. "Deal?"

"Deal," I breathed.

If I hadn't been so disturbed by what I was being asked to do, what I was being challenged to do, perhaps I would've seen the look the two boys exchanged, and the depth between them suggested they surmised all of what I would go through. Their hidden agenda unfolded as they locked eyes while I stared into the distance, mentally preparing myself. Yet I know now that not even they had anticipated all I would endure. Of the laughter shared and the stronger than steel friendships formed, of the heartbreak that would consume my very being, of the betrayals and anecdotes that would shape me, and the love that has altered these haunting years. They did not know of how the small band of newsies would change me forever.

**A/N-** Sorry if I offended anybody with the cussing and I hope you enjoyed it. But this is my first fanfiction, so could you please review. Say anything you want, really. Constructive criticizm is appreciated though. C'mon, I'll give you a cookie! With Mush swirled in chocolate!


	2. Chapter 2:Stroke of Luck

A/N-Sorry I haven't updated in a while, or two weeks but whatever. My computer is insane and decided it hates me with a passion, but oh well, there's technology for you. Anyway, here's the next chapter, hope anybody who reads this is happy with it.

Disclaimer -I don't own the newsies...yaddyaydayada

Chapter Two

The sun glistened from the dirty water to reflect the sky of yesteryear and I trained my eyes away from the sparkling insanity, for such was the brightness I would soon become blind. The air was still and humid, lingering water in the atmosphere from last nights storm making my dark tresses stick to my forehead, mingling with trickling beads of perspiration. The weather almost knew of my unthinkable feat (or soon to be feat once I convince the newsies to let me join) and in parallel to the abnormal created this humid, sunny day with no relief. It was drawing to the end of October and autumn in New York should offer a pause from this unbearable heat.

I slipped from shadows and doorways, always my senses trained for trouble but they were particularly sharpened today, I was alert to everything moving. I could hear the bantering of those with barely a penny in their pocket and the bargaining with street vendors, could feel the crisp air around the wealthy when they walked as if they were better than the earth itself. Perhaps if I veered from my course slightly and stuck my foot across their path…the results could be catastrophic. The coppers were looking especially sinister today, twirling their bats, tipping their hats, and shining their buttons as if they were highly respectable. Maybe in a world other than my own, but here, on the streets, nobody wants the prejudices of the bulls.

I continued to keep close to the alley's but there was no real reason, just mere habit. My cat was cast low, shadowing my features and my hair was tucked inside so I could fully masquerade as a boy. Perhaps I wouldn't bother with such precautions, but the newsies would have no reason to admit me into their realms without instigation. I also knew the Delancey Brothers were their sworn enemies, had seen the clans rivalry progress, even more so than I was.

There were a cornucopia of idea in how I could win the newsies over, how I could enter their mysterious universe, but I needed an outlet for the tension trembling inside of me. Perhaps my fear, my insecurities, and my cold fury were unreasonable, the only threat to me was I might be killed if found out, and it was probably just because insomnia had stricken its course last night. I had not slept for more than a moment, and had not left the gang's clutch until late this morning, assuring that Caleb was well looked after…and maybe stalling, but only a little. Or maybe the anger and stress I was feeling was because of my last encounter with the Delancey's.

The word of a fight would spread to at least one newsies ears, and bring him (and possibly his comrades) to the scene to experience what it was to see the brothers beaten. Once I am victorious I will have gained their respect, especially after I reveal that I am a girl, and perhaps be admitted into their world without further hassle. Everything had to go my way.

I could nearly feel the brother's intense pulsing rage and mercilessness as I rounded the corner, their emotions radiating from them strongly, and in disgust I saw them plotting in hushed voices. I knew I was not the only one who felt it, because passerby's were staying to the opposite street, always watching the brothers from the corner of their eye. I would never understand how such brothers, brothers revealing their heart's to everybody, could have a reputation as highly acclaimed as theirs. The taller and elder whom I remember as being Morris had his back turned towards me, the other had stupidity written all over, so I didn't bother pumping the adrenaline for strength I knew I was lacking in muscle. I remember my last fight with them. I had been caught off guard then. This time I was the predator.

"Hey scabs!" I called out cheerily, my voice ringing in the clamor, and somehow they knew they had a challenger, that I was speaking to them, because the elder with the bowler hat turned slowly with a malicious grin. Their excitement and anticipation was revolting, and I didn't mind in the least soaking them. "Ya might wanna shave dat mustache. It makes ya look like a hairy ass."

"I'd watch me place if I'se was you'se, pipsqueak," he threatened and I glowered at the nickname I had heard before, my height being a measly five feet. His brother hooted in accomplishment, probably proud of his brother for speaking in more than grunts.

"Bettah den looking at you'se," I said serenely and pretended to look at my 'place', or where I was standing, but my eyes never left them. They stiffened at the comment, their nostrils smelling the whiff of a fight, and in their gleaming eyes they thought they would triumph in the fight. I was more than happy to introduce them to the grounds passion.

"Yer one ta tawk, not even showing us yer face," the younger, Oscar, piped up and seemed awed and ecstatic at his stroke of brilliance but his smirk faltered when my mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. Years of street fights had taught me how to strike fear, intimidation, and how to gain the upper hand before the true fight even began.

"Oh, you know who I am," I whispered dramatically, stepping closer to them. "And you'll know even bettah when I'se through soaking you'se."

"Wad makes ya so confident?" he challenged, edging towards me, and we were two lions competing for our kingdoms.

"Cause I ain't you'se," I remarked airily and Oscar nearly twitched in annoyance, impatient for the true fight to begin, while Morris calculated me through dull eyes before presuming I'd be no trouble at all.

"How bout ya stop tawkin," he suggested. "And we can see if yer fighting matches yer mouth."

"So eager to get soaked, one ta two. I'll only be happy to oblige," I retorted with a mock bow and he grinned viciously, only a few feet now separating us. While I waited his attack I tried to appear bored when I was squirming with anxiety. The day had been just like this when they left my bloody and broken body in a gutter to rot.

Too absorbed in my own pointless thoughts, I stumbled back as a sharp pain seared through my jaw and my eyes watered from the ferocity of it, but I didn't wait to regain my senses to retaliate. My fist shot out and Morris dodged it, but wasn't quick enough to escape its wrath entirely and it grazed his nose until I swung again and this time my fist found its target, bloody spurting from his smashed nose. Screaming vengeance Oscar entered the brawl and his punch missed me by inches, and I threw a true uppercut to his jaw, forcing him backwards. I lunged for him but Morris blocked my path and soon I did not know where I was throwing my punches, as long as I threw them, or where I kicked and scratched, as long as I did so and dodged retaliation. I wasn't quick enough to escape their punishment fully though and blood trickled from my nose when Oscar threw my slight frame against the brick of a building.

Sharply I gasped for the oxygen I had been denied, moaning in pain from the blow of the collision in my ribs and the breath that had been knocked from me. So audible was my gasping their sharp intake of breath nearly passed unacknowledged but I forced my moist eyes open to see their jaws dropping comically simultaneously. Something rubbed against the bare skin of my arm and I glanced towards the ground, wishing to see what insect was devouring my flesh, and with sickening dread saw the gray fabric of my hat just as I felt my hair cascading to mid-waist, where it ended its journey. Completely dead and unaware to all the trouble that it had just caused me.

"It's you!" Oscar cried in shock and outrage and I gave him a cold smile, daring him to come a step closer, but I knew the universe was beginning to turn against me. Morris was numb in his shock but memories of our last encounter surely were filtering through his mind because his confidence was returning, and he grinned smugly but even that smug smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I knew ya had ta be a goil. No respectable guy scratches and bites…"

"When ya gonna learn liddle goil, not ta mess wid us," Morris interrupted with the threat of a thousand words reverberating in his voice. I struggled to stand, preparing to fight, but before I ever had a chance he snatched me up and smashed my head into the wall, his steel grip holding me upright. Darkness veiled my vision and for those few seconds I feared unconsciousness would steal me, an unconsciousness so deep I might never wake. With specked vision I charged him, and tried to summon all the rage and hate bottled inside of me but it wouldn't resurface, I did not have the energy or the will power to do so. In the depths of my heart I knew this would be a loosing battle. The fear that registered at death was nothing compared to the relief at ending the pain. Death- so engraved in our mind to fear it we hardly see it in other terms of emotions. But there is beauty in death. The tragic drama and the release of pain in a bloody corpse.

I struggled in Morris' hold, my arms twisted painfully behind my back, the ligaments in my shoulders being torn, as Oscar searched in his pockets for a treasured item that I knew would not be a cigarette. With my heel I stepped upon Morris' foot and he yelped in surprise, but that only sparked his temper and he held me firmer and with a quick glance I saw the brass emerging from Oscar's pocket. My head snapped so quickly my neck snapped as I stared in horror at the object he was so lovingly putting on his fingers. Panic clogged my throat and I threw all my weight against Morris with such momentum he nearly stumbled back, but held his ground and cupped my face and with only one hand held my arms behind my back.

"Get off me!" I screeched, my voice breaking.

"Awww, Morris, I think she's gonna cry," Oscar taunted and by sheer will power did no tears leak- I would not permit myself to cry, especially in front of these two. "Maybe we'll have ta do her a favor and make her feel bettah, and wait ta aftah ta soak her."

My eyes were trained upon the finery of the brass knuckles as I saw them swing backwards, each crack and line explicit as I awaited my doom, terrified not of the knuckles but of what his threat implied. Oscar's arm swirled in the air and impatient for my own death, I shot a look of the purest daggers at him. Perhaps I should've heard the shouts, his face contorted in pure outrage, and the involuntary movements of his arm, the battle he fought within himself finally ending when his arm dropped limply to his side.

"Ya heah dem?" he queried, the fear in his voice unmistakable.

"Who's crying now?" I spat but my shock at their fear prevented me from acting.

"Why isn't dey in Queens?" Morris returned warily, ignoring me, and I followed his gaze scanning the perimeter but I found nothing neither ominous nor abnormal.

"Cause dey're watching us," Oscar hissed, paranoid, insanely searching from the corners of his eyes for their pursuers. "You. Girl. You know wad we'se talking about?"

"Da voices in yer head?" I asked innocently and no sound emitted from them, not even an indignant squawk. Like children left in the rain they nearly whimpered, and maybe beforehand I should've been terrified, wary of such creatures that could strike fear into the most ghastly of street thugs. But now the hair rose on the back of my neck. Frigid silver bolts of lightning struck the match in me, burning everything low. Immobilizing them and throwing me into the turbulence of the cold sea, submerged. Drenched. Drowning. All of this it felt and more as they looked like injured and frightened animals.

"Why would dey care if we'se soaking her?"

"Oscar! If I'se knew dat I wouldn't have gotten inta dis in da foist place, don't be stupid."

"Good luck wid dat," I murmured but they didn't seem to hear me, still nervously looking about. Suddenly Oscar's eyes registered wide with fear and in panic he stuffed his brass knuckles into his pocket, sending a sharp look to his brother. Morris dropped me and I fell uselessly to the ground like a rag doll, and it wasn't until the dust cleared did I realize they were gone.

I stared into the black hole of the city numbly, for they had disappeared without even their footprints as a reminder of what was. Magnetized to 'them'- them, who induced such fear to such thugs, and who were probably still around, circulating the buildings above my head. Watching. Phantoms lurking in the shadows or spirits of my imagination, I did not know which. But I beseeched myself to forget, because all I was doing was frightening myself. So I stared at the torn flesh of my hands where the jagged rocks had sliced them from my fall, acutely aware to their searing pain but as if it was in a completely different person, and I was watching far away from here, completely detached. Now, all I knew was the Delancey's were gone, I had lost, and still no newsies. Perhaps 'them' had frightened the newsboys away, but I doubted it. Wonderful. Jolly good. Blood spilt and bruises formed for nobody's entertainment but the simpleton brothers'. Another glorious stroke of luck from smashing that mirror a year ago.

"Excuse me miss," a sympathetic voice broke into my rambling under the breath cursing and I froze, a miracle my heart still beat. A foreboding feeling radiated from those three words, foreshadowing I would meet something much more enigmatic than the scabs of the city, and I would be helpless to their resolve. But I would not cower. With a steely determination, grotesque assassins in my mind's eye, I peered over my shoulder and expected to see some towering creature of the night. Framed against the brilliance of the sky stood a boy, staring down at me with a sickening concoction of pity and concern, and only then did I realize how awkward I must appear. Little I cared the minds of society, but I had no need to stay upon the ground, dirty and bloody. "You alright, miss?"

"Fine," I murmured, relief numbing my senses and the eyes slowly receded, until I was alone in the middle of this bustling New York autumn day. "In me spare time I lie on da ground beaten." I ignored the callused hand thrust before my face and rose on my own, wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling over like an uncoordinated toddler. "Wad do ya want?"

"Wad do ya mean wad do we want?" his companion cried indignantly and I had to struggle to suppress my wheezing laughter. The sunlight was reflecting off his golden hair, and with his handicap, a worn leather eye patch covering his left pale blue eye, he appeared the epitome of a knight in shining armor.

"I ain't gonna fall helplessly inta yer arms," I said stiffly, scanning the perimeter for my fallen comrade, my troublesome gray cap. As much as I was delighted by their gaping faces I had no need for them, only for my hat, and only for the broken stones that lined my foggy path.

"Wad makes ya think we'd catch ya," the third and final of their trio snorted.

Ignoring him, I scooped my cap up and admonished it softly, "Dis is all yer fault fer falling off me."

"Are ya tawkin ta yer hat?" the first asked incredulously and I strained to smile sweetly at him, absorbing his cinnamon skin and curls of unkempt hair, his entire depraved street urchin attire somehow suiting his persona, his character I knew nothing of. His eyes traced the scars engraved in my skin with such infuriating empathy I did not have the energy to fight it, and instead turned away from him, collecting myself, spontaneously overwhelmed with an unexplainable sorrow.

"No, I'se tawkin ta you'se," I retorted cheekily, regaining my senses, denying entrance to the emotions besieging me. "Ya see, ya were on me, but den ya fell off, and my head smashed in and my hair fell down. Does dat sound dirty ta anybody else?"

"Nah, but I don't mind," the golden haired lad smirked suggestively, much to the boisterous amusement of the others and for his sake I just hoped his teasing was meaningless. Yet just the tiniest shadow of a blush crept along my jaw line, and I cursed being so pale, cursed being a girl, and pitied any other girl they knew. Perhaps this was another reason I could've given Micah for my departure from his hooligans. I was just a girl living in a man's world, for in even the fantasy society of the street rats I was just a street girl, a hindrance, a curse. And save anybody who dared defy the codes of feminism.

"Hey, we didn't mean nothing by it," Cinnamon said apologetically, reaching a comforting arm out, but I jerked away from him.

"Wad do ya want?"

"We don't want anything," the third exhaled patiently, emerging into the spotlight and my only sense of comfort was he was shorter and scrawnier than his companions. I writhed under his steady gaze, because I knew of the motives in his dark eyes, for I had calculated many under the same penetrating stare. With one swift look calculating all of who they are and who they aren't, and whatever mannequin this boy created surely I would despise it. "We were just around kid, and heard of yer fighting da Delancey's. Dat ain't new but when we'se heard ya were a goil we came ta see da scene. Is dat so wrong?" he demanded in an injured tone I would have to be a scab to believe, and I caught his undertone, "And betting on it?"

"No, dat would be fine fer a saint or da messiah," I answered crisply, justly shattering their façade, because I was a street rat as I surmised they were and I knew how their minds ticked. "Ya jist wanted ta place yer bets and get da excitement of a fight, cause yer too cowardly ta fight yerselves."

"Dat ain't true!" Cinnamon protested like a tiny, injured animal.

"Yeah, we ain't cowards," the third, the Italian, laughed and Cinnamon cuffed him in the back of the head, but at least he had the audacity to admit up to it. It was the ways of the streets, the golden code that shaped every street kid's culture, and the reason I knew the newsies would come running at the first whisper of a fight. Not only the amusement of a spectator, but to size each of the opponents up and to see who would be rising as a challenge to hinder their own progresses, who would rise to the throne and who would be banished.

My dare was flickering before me like a taunting orb of light leading from a cave, always drawing nearer and only when the idea of freedom was clearest did it draw away again. In this mosaic city of individual stereotypes the newsies were scattered on every street or at least within a mile and for all my wanderings I had not seen one; the day I needed them they were nowhere to be found and every other day they were obnoxiously everywhere. If I were superstitious I would take this as an omen, a curse of bad luck. If I had one ounce of common sense I would abandon my dare, take this as the universe revealing the dangers of joining the newsies. Unfortunately I was engaged in a ceaseless battle with logic and had to spite it, and did not turn back like every sense in me told me I should. It was then, just as the last flame of hope was burning low, did I see the intricate inked lines of a newspaper calling me. Discarded at the truthful smartass' feet the few newspapers lay and it was amazing how brightly hope shined at that moment, from the remnants of dead trees supporting the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Those newspapers had their friends- more at Cinnamon's feet and lastly cradled in Blondie's arms. I nearly ran to those newspapers and skipped around with them but I doubted the asylum carried too many newsies, considering they'd break out of there in a few hours.

"Yer street rat…newsies?" I stammered, but everything was beginning to fall into place. Before me were three teenage boys all around my age, at most two years older, and roaming the streets on their own, dirt accumulated to them, and who knew the streets' code. Silently I berated myself for not realizing it before while the stood uncertainly, uncomfortable for I was sure all my emotions were revealed.

"Yes, miss," Mush replied nervously and I nearly pitied his anxiety while I wrestled with my expression, trying to hide the elation I felt.

"We're street rats too," the Italian boy added, smirking when I grinned in embarrassment.

"Sorry bout dat, didn't mean anything by it," I explained, feeling I owed it to them especially because of Blondie's face nearly twitching in annoyance. "I'se more of a street rat anyway."

"We can tell," Blondie chortled and I was surprised at the other two's agitated scowls.

"I would kick ya in da family jewels but I ain't sure ya have any. Wouldn't want ta embarrass ya in front of yer friends," I retorted and was delighted at their laughter, but even more ecstatic at Blondie's dark glare.

"Ya deserved dat one, Blink," Cinnamon conceded, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder and he seemed to agree, his smile signaling for a truce.

"Blink?" I asked confusedly, figuring it to be some newsie slang I had not yet heard of.

"It's me name," Blondie confessed and I reeled back in surprise, looking to the other two for their conformation. If his parents named him Blink there was no wonder why he was now a newsie.

"It's just a nickname, kid," Cinnamon insinuated, the only boy with the decency not to laugh. I blushed slightly for my stupidity but he smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry about it."

"It ain't obvious wid Blink like it is wid da rest of us. Cause if his folks were as stupid as him dey woulda named him dat," the Italian boy declared seriously and Blink playfully slapped him. "I'se Racetrack, dat's Mush, and dat's Kid Blink."

It would be unreasonable not to give them a name even though they did not demand one, but I had been too involved with finding the newsies to have created an alternate alias. It was foolish of me, and my mind reeled with all the names I had heard over the years, finally recalling something I had read in some book. "Me name's Lani."

"Well den Lani, you…Look out!" Mush bellowed but I only saw his lips move in the emptiness, as a sudden intolerable pain ripped through the back of my head. Like white hot iron branding me it scorched through my skull and the world sank through colored scarves, a silent scream searing my throat, ripping at every fiber. My knees buckled, but something more hypnotizing than a drug was tearing me from the pain, hiding me from the alarmed faces of the newsboys, and stealing me into the realms of unrecognizable dreams. His pounding footsteps receded into my dreams, the final steady strokes of a pendulum.

A/N- well, hope that was satisfactory. I'm not happy with it but I never am. Please review. Constructive critisizm is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3 Different from others

A/N- Sorry this has taken me so long to update. It will pick up, I promise. Thank you again to anybody who reviewed, it means everything,shout outs are at the end. Hope this chapter is good.

The deep veins protruded through the velvet red of the rose, a solitary thing of elegance amongst such a vast array of discombobulated flowers in a seemingly home made vase, upon the window sill watching the world pass them by. Sheltered from its cruelties but sheltered from themselves and that solitary rose had captivated me since I first dared to awake, I didn't know how long ago. One single petal had allowed the tragedies of time to suppress it and it succumbed to fate, the edges shriveling, dying. Withering until it will become just a shadow of the beauty it once was. Shadows-strange things. Always appearing for their greatest convenience, when a person wants to be isolated and alone, and always disappearing when someone needs them most. Shadows are just a veil of sunlight but they are the soul that does not want to be seen. The light shed by waxed splutters of flames and I wonder if the inanimate objects in the room had a mind of their own they would be angry with the flickering candlelight, because I know I am. The melancholy shadows dance around from that lonely flame, and when I had awoken alone the shadows of the cold windowpane cast their lines on my face.

Never before had I seen the cliché image of a heart reflected in my own, for my own heart was nothing more than a suppression of all the feelings I was forced to hide. My heart was relative, something now pounding so loudly I knew not how I was not swarmed with people demanding me to end this ceaseless drumming. Perhaps they would mean once and for all. Maybe that's what I mean. Maybe my heart will just stop from the emotions crawling underneath my skin, running with my blood, burning inside my chest until insanity will be my only escape. Until the darkness recedes and the light is unveiled, aurora's long fingers stretching in the young sky, and only then will I be able to fall into the carcass I obtained years ago when everything was abandoned. Only at night to the masks shatter and only at night can I accept the unbearable truth- I am nothing but a fake. I will never be just Lisolette Misty Venrice but the mannequin of what everybody expects to see, what I wish I could see, until crystalline tears are the only piece of my soul that will ever leave me, and only leave me in the obscurity of night, and rarely even can the darkness see me cry. Maybe one day the shredded paper I scribbled on when I was a melodramatic fool will find me again by the wind, declaring I was _SICK OF CRYING, YEAH I'M SMILING, BUT INSIDE I'M DYING! _A pointless effort to force everything into reality and then destroy it to cleanse myself of these thoughts, but here it remains, the guilty truth that in the deepest part of the darkest night I cry. Only a few tears, but enough so when my eyes burn and my skin is raw I will be empty enough to successfully metamorphous into Lani, and now these tears spill so the mortar in these walls and the ties in this mask will not break.

"Yer awake!"

My yelp vibrated my entire body and I reeled backwards, my head smashing against the wall, but the resounding crash was nothing against the swearing. The world had a grudge against my skull, that being the fourth tally in the past twenty-four hours, and like a sailor I swore and muttered the injustice of it all. I shook a threatening fist towards anything and everything, hissing, "Yeah, just try to take me on now!"

"Lani, be quiet," Racetrack snapped, looming over me and I screamed, my heart thrust back and my skull cracking against the wall joined my screams. I hadn't noticed him there before, and just as I was contemplating punching the wall a callused hand covered my mouth. By the candlelight I saw Kid Blink scowling and I would've bitten his hand if I knew where it had been…actually that would be a reason I wouldn't bite it.

"Please, Lani," Mush begged and only for the kindness he had shown me, in his sweet disposition, did I resist biting or punching Blink. Apprehensively I looked between the trio, Racetrack on one side and the other two on the other, and my twisted little mind resembled them to cannibals eying their prey before they devoured it.

"Okay, but only one limb," I cackled and they exchanged a worried look, no doubt believing the battle with the wall and my head had caused such insanity, and I smiled innocently until I could stand it no more and began laughing again, only increasing their alarm. It was a few seconds before I could really control myself, before I really grew tired of seeing them watching the door with such nervous fright. Amazing how a simple door was causing them such distress. "The doors not gonna hoit ya, fellahs."

"How's yer head?" Racetrack asked me kindly and I was taken aback at the sincerity in his dark eyes, at the concern in his tone and for a few seconds all I could do was stare at him numbly. I turned to gaze at the chipping teal paint, at the vicious wall and in my contemplations I did not out rightly realize the significance in his look. The wall did me no wrong, at least in his mind, but I had been introduced to something's intimacy maybe yesterday, maybe weeks ago. I traced a ginger finger along the injury and only did a dull thudding begin. It was for that injury that I was here. Wherever here might be.

"What happened?"

"Ya got hit on da head," Kid Blink declared agitatedly and I forced a glare at him but I could put no effort in it, all I wanted was the truth. I thirsted for the knowledge that would give me something to hold, to chain me instead of letting me float through oblivion.

"Ya got hit on da head," Racetrack repeated but he did not meet my eyes so I turned my attention towards Mush, the only who I could break, whose resolve was already weakening. He looked between the other newsies as if he was a puppy just returning from a journey in the garbage and looking to see if his masters had a rolled up newspaper or not. I nearly laughed at the image of Mush with furry floppy ears and a wet nose, and I was tempted to start rubbing his belly.

"We brought ya heah once ya got knocked out," Racetrack intervened just as Mush opened his mouth to speak and the boy fell into a guilty silence, Race now commandeering my attention. "Yer in da newsboys lodging house. We didn't know weah ya live so we had no oddah choice but ta bring ya heah."

"Well dat woiks," I shrugged noncommittally, trying to avoid the nagging of my conscious for all the lies and half truths that would be spilling, for all the warnings I wouldn't heed. All I had time for was my dare, what had brought me to these newsies, what had reduced me to tears in the deepest part of my nightmares. Discreetly I lowered my head, brushing at the burning skin and sweeping at the tears that were now just dry remnants of all that had happened before, but only now did I remember them. The newsies could not have missed them and they saw the evidence I was destroying, I could feel their eyes boring into my back, skirting my heart and I was thankful they did not know me well enough to care if I cried of not. The embarrassment, my own and theirs, sliced through me like and awkward dagger and if somebody did not start speaking now things could be said that never should be admitted aloud.

"So…" I trailed off, trying to ignore the obnoxious flapping of Kid Blink's arms as he tried unsuccessfully to shush me. Again the defenseless door became an object of attention and Mush and Racetrack were watching it like all the worlds dangerous secrets lay beyond and the shrillness and volume of our voices would trigger the lock. It was Pandora's Box and finally I tired of staring at it and shoved Blink's arm aside, one slamming into the wall. Cursing and moaning he rubbed at the discoloration while the other two became frantic, Mush trying to calm him and shoved him roughly in the chest. Of all the ironies it shut him up. In the chaos was the opportune moment and my hand was enveloping the brass of the doorknob before any of them even registered what was happening, but the door was cracked enough for me to peer out and some ghastly assassins, terrible diseases, and blood curling shrieks I expected from how they stared at it. Only did I see bunks lined in the room, mobile lumps atop that I presumed to be the other newsboys, shadows and darkness engulfing them so I did not get a wonderful view of the surely half naked teenage boys. An arm snaked around my waist before I could push the door further open, and Racetrack forcefully dragged me away while simultaneously closing the door. Only did he release me when his body was pressed against the door, barricading it all.

"Not a bad view," I giggled airily and as satisfied as I was with their groans of frustration I could not banish their ominous looks, or the sinking feeling of dread that was slowly, agonizingly, becoming unbearable. "I swear I'll scream if you'se bums don't tell me why yer looking at dat room as if da bulls demselves are dere."

"No!" they exclaimed, and I knew I had them as Micah had me seemingly so long ago. A bead of perspiration trickled from Mush's brow, provoking me nearly to the edge of sanity, the tension torturing us all.

"Please Lani, just don't scream," Mush beseeched me and I inhaled sharply and his panicked voice rose over mine, "Alright, alright, I'll tell ya."

"Good. Just don't give me no cock and bull story bout dem sleeping and all."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he conceded, running a hand wearily through his tangles of hair and I smirked triumphantly because now he could not be silenced. "Da oddahs don't exactly know you'se heah. Nobody does but da three of us."

"Don't tell her anymore," Kid Blink commanded furiously, a blaze in his light blue eyes that astounded me, the urgency in Racetrack's catching me in the maze of these unspeakables, lost in a spider web of words. The reality of pain and fear, the epitome of scars and hurt, emotions that we had been taught so young to hide in this cruel society, to bury in the depths of our hearts, were all reflected in their expressions, all three of them. The same burden represented in so many ways and lines of weariness were crinkled on their forehead, making them appear so much older than they really were. But all street children grow up too quickly…most any child does. I knew this well and I could not will myself to back them into a corner anymore, the panic and pain revealed in all giving me reason to slump onto the mattress and search for my boots. I felt the icy chill of the cherry wood beneath my bare feet and I needed my black boots before I could leave. I could not do this. I could not accept this challenge and go through with it; I should never have in the first place. Maybe I am this horrid, maybe I am this terrible of a human for accepting the challenge, but I could not go on lying and leading them on like I was so carelessly doing. It was almost inhumane, because I knew the pain they felt, any street kid knew it well, too well, and despite my resentment for the newsboys of New York I could not induce any more suffering on their brotherhood than I had already done, never mind how long ago that was.

"Lani, wad are ya doing?" Racetrack asked gently, kneeling down to take the boot I was struggling to shove on my foot, my fingers trembling too badly to manage anything right. In vain I tried to snatch it back but he held it just out of reach, sitting beside me like a patient parent dealing with the temper tantrum of a toddler, trying to convince them to see reason. And like a child I crossed my arms stubbornly and glowered at Kid Blink, unable to send the other two an adequate glare, and my fury only deepened when I saw he was battling to hide a smile. Well I'm glad they find me so amusing. I can die happy now. I turned towards Racetrack pleadingly but his eyebrows were raised, and in his smirk, in his eyes, in his very features was the all knowing look I hated so much, that anybody who received it felt as if all their secrets were laid bare, no matter how irrelevant they may be. I grabbed the firm pillow beside me and threw it at him but he dodged it skillfully, only leaving me to assume this wasn't the first time random objects had been hurtled at him.

"I'm sorry, kid, I didn't mean nothing by snapping at ya like dat," Kid Blink said solemnly and I rolled my eyes for I had seen the prodding Mush had done to get him to apologize. He had no need to be sorry, he hadn't done anything he shouldn't have, I had no right to know anything and I was about to tell him all this but he continued. "It's just we don't want to get into our reasoning right now. I'm sure ya can understand wad I mean, we hardly know ya as it is."

"I understand," I admitted and their surprise was nearly comical enough to force a laugh at but anything that I spoke now possessed no real emotion.

"We smuggled ya in yesterday before everybody started coming home," Racetrack expanded, his word choice careful and I did not press the matter.

"As luck would have it Camelot, dis is her room, is in Brooklyn right now and ain't coming back till today," Mush further explained and I nodded absently, trying to process all of this. Still, my resolution was firm and I reached for the boot I just noticed beside me. Sometimes the most obvious things are the easiest to not see.

"Weah do ya live?"

"I can get home on me own," I replied and I could feel Mush's disbelieving look but I forced my boot on, my intentions steady and unwavering.

"I think ya know by now dat ya can get attacked at any moment. We'll take ya home, it's no trouble," Racetrack pressed and I spun sharply on my heel to scowl at him with all the intimidation I possessed but he did not cower, did not even satisfy me with a wince.

"Trust me on this one, it'll be more trouble den you know," I said cryptically, forcefully taking my other boot from Racetrack and slamming it on with more force than need be.

"Ya ain't going anywhere unless we'se coming wid ya," Kid Blink said sternly and I growled menacingly but he did not waver from his statement, did not even flinch. If I had to I would scale the fire escape. Only could I try a different approach so they'd see reason, so they'd let me leave without anymore hassle, and it was the last resort that I wanted anything to do with. Sighing with all the weight of the world I turned to face them, tears welling in my eyes, one acid teardrop leaking. I knew their reactions well, had seen it in my mind's eye before, but I wasn't prepared for their alarm. I wasn't prepared for their worry for a stranger. My eyes were a mirror of a complete devastating loss of hope.

"Please, just let me leave. I've caused you enough trouble and I appreciate all that you've done for me. But let's just put this all behind us so I can leave like none of this happened," I choked, but I could not look at them straight. I was my alias, and that was the only thing allowing me to make such a ninny of myself.

"Lani, don't cry. You didn't cause us trouble, don't worry," Mush comforted, reaching an arm out but I pulled away before the softness of skin could lull me back here. I wanted to live out this challenge, so badly did I want to stay here for a fortnight for reasons that not even I could understand. But I could not.

"You don't have a home, do ya?" Racetrack inquired quietly and if the world stopping spinning on its axis right then we wouldn't have known. As if time itself stopped we were frozen in ice and immobilized by the weight of those five words. The weight they all felt, because at some point those words held all the unmistakable truth, although now the lodging house was their home. And mine…in the basement of that theater? I could not look at him, at any of them. How could they get so near the truth and yet be so far? How could I ever let them understand even this much?

"Lani…" Kid Blink started desperately but he trailed into an abyss of meaningless words, knowing that nothing would suffice for anything. The suffocation was slowly killing, the obesity of my heart grounding me to the world more than what I had felt in weeks, in months even. Everything was all too real and I turned towards the window, seeing the sky already cracked with the brilliance of dawn an artist would be proud of. The windowpane was cool against my burning forehead. Home-what a strange word. They say home is where the heart is but I don't think my heart has ever been anywhere. I hadn't allowed it to be, and as sure as hell my 'family' hadn't allowed it. That word was as foreign as if it was a different language.

"Well dis would make a good play," Racetrack announced sardonically, lighting the cigar he had been fingering. "Throw in a few deaths and Shakespeare would be happy."

"Living on da streets ain't safe."

"I nevah said I was living on da streets, Mush!"

"Well, it's kind of obvious, ain't it?" he retorted and I could do nothing but stare at him. My energy was sapped and if I lied they would know, I was trapped like I always knew I would be.

"Kloppman's waking dem up now," Racetrack said exhaustedly, staring at the door and everything that lay beyond and distinctly I heard angry voices, and the occasional thud of somebody being knocked off their bunk. An elderly voice rose about all the clamor, ordering for the newsboys to get up and sell their papers, to be ready for another day of back breaking work. "Kloppman's gonna know we ain't in our beds in a couple seconds."

"We can't very well just walk on out of heah without somebody saying something," Kid Blink protested logically and I listened intently, discreetly trying to pry the window open so I could leave without retribution.

"We'll just have ta say we'se was playing pokah or something, waking up before da oddahs," Racetrack shrugged, schemes formulating in his mind as he spoke. "I won."

"I think you're reading a bit too deep into it," Kid Blink retorted, smirking and I had trouble hiding my smile despite my low spirits.

"Just making sure it's clear. Don't want none of ya bragging bout beating me if da facts ain't straight."

"Wad about Lani?" Mush demanded, casting me a worried look and I glared at him, surely my ambitions to get the window open would be discovered. Nobody much noticed though, too absorbed in the drama, in the plans unfolding. All for my sake, when my words were drenched in a deception I would never shatter.

"We need anuddah goil in dis joint, I think," Racetrack smirked at me and I did not dare to hope my dare would be fulfilled. My intentions to leave were dwindling, my resolve weakening, because never had I been so determined to leave here. "We can act like we'se just met her selling, and if worse comes to worse admit wad happened ta get her ta stay, say she'll be killed if we turn her away. If we'se leave aftah da oddahs we can take her selling and den tell Jack and da oddahs latah. None will be da wiser."

"Jack ain't nevah gonna let her stay," Kid Blink reminded him and Racetrack shrugged, petty matters like that insignificant in his mind.

"We'll figure it out when da time comes."

"Why are ya doing dis fer me?" I asked meekly, terrified of the answer but they had no right to act as they were doing for a complete outsider.

"I don't know," Racetrack admitted but before my spirits could be too crushed he added, "But I think it's because we'se know yer different from most goils. And everybody deserves a chance right?"

"No, not me," I whispered to the void of guilt encompassing the room so spontaneously it compressed all these words into ice chips that were falling from my mouth, and only when they were finally melted would the words tumble out in a rush. Then they would be no more and fade from this existence, not even mean anything when they were released, just as they meant nothing to the trio before me. Straining their ears and knitting their eyebrows, wondering if they had heard me right. "You have no idea wad yer tawkin bout."

"Lani…" Mush began but I interrupted him.

"No, Mush, none of you do. I'm not so different from the other girls," I said completely emotionlessly, my tone only what kept the others from responding and to keep them here and listen to a girl's incessant worthless ramblings. Giving me leave, I continued, "Things aren't always wad dey seem. In life, we are da performers and we are da audiences, but sometime we gotta throw out our script and…I ain't making any sense to none of you right now."

"It's alright, Lani, you're upset," Mush soothed but I ignored him, forgetting the chill of the windowpane, forgetting where I was, and snatched up a spare ribbon thrown on the floor, tying it around my fingers, needing something to focus all this negativity on.

"Girl's ain't like guys, and we ain't just da dimpled, rosy-cheek goodness, or da bad-ass', or da sluts. All of us are vicious and manipulative. Every last one of us, and you probably saw me as more of one a da tough ones, except for right now, now I'm categorized as insane, but it ain't that simple. I'm just like the other girls, like everybody else, and I DO NOT deserve a chance, your help, or yer sympathy."

"We don't think yer completely insane, just a bit…or a lot," Kid Blink protested and I just stared at him blankly, his face falling when his attempts on lightening the mood didn't work.

"Lani, we'se sixteen and seventeen and had our share of da ladies, probably seen enough catfights to loose dere appeal," Racetrack began calmly, and I marveled at his placidness at all my babblings, but it was only me-not them- who was troubled and touched in the head. "But I don't think ya know da point of wad I was saying, and I don't think ya could understand it unless you'se been wid us fer a while." The darkly significant look they exchanged did not pass from my sight, but I just tried to listen to what Racetrack said, because I was near hyperventilating.

"I don't rightly know why we'se inviting ya ta join our ranks, cause we'se probably turned half a dozen or so kids away but yer different. Ya ain't so obnoxiously tough dat we'se gotta put ya in yer place…well, I take dat back, ya are a bit…but I got a soft spot fer kids like you."

"Wads dat supposed ta mean?" I shot back defensively but my words seeped through the wood to the doorknob turning ominously, the demon of our nightmares on the other side. I felt the color draining from my face as we were immobilized, and the only last words I had before I was pushed off the plank were this- time can only press forward, and the best is to not fight the inevitable current, only hope the winds were in favor. Outside there was no wind at all.

**ShoutOuts**

**Rustie73**- thank you so much for your review, reviewers mean everything right now. I know I haven't been updating as much as I should be, and i think the story itself is a bit slow right now, but i promise it will pick up soon. I'm trying to keep it a bit dark and mysterious. Again I hugely appreciate your review, and I hope I'm doing a good job.

**EnchantedPencil**- arg, you're biased considering you're my sister. but thank you, as much as we fight at least we still can review each others stories. :) Huzza! I am happy you reviewed and at least didn't despise it, or really did and arejust trying to manipulate me into doing things for you. just kidding. I'm trying to keep the story and the character as real as possible. I don't think I can get you the King of Brooklyn, the obsessive compulsive fangirls might kill me in my sleep.

**Reffy**- Thank you, you have no idea how much I appreciate your compliment. Well, probably you do since you're a writer as well. I hope I didn't over do her weaknesses in this chapter, or didn't screw this chapter up entirely. She'll meet the other boys in the next chapter. Thanks for your suggestion, and Micah and his 'gang' will appear soon and later play a pretty significant role in how the story turns out. But again, thank you so much for your compliment, review, and advice.

A/N- So thank you to anybody who reviewed my last chapters, and to anybody who read this story. I've been horrible with reviewing anybody, even with those stories I really like, but I'm breaking that habit and I'm asking people to please, please, review this. No matter how obnoxious it might be to have somebody to be literally begging for reviews. At this stage I need all the advice I can get. But thank you to anybody who read this. Now go ahead, make friends with the reviewing button.

Jack- jumpsonto statueFight the system! She writes some of this in her stupid, easy,pointless classes full with teaches who don't even have a license. Bring down the man, fight the power! You're review is a vote against listening to the lies teachers say to make this world bubble gum and it also gets the popular kids to back off! actually, it doesn't do any of that, but in her mind it gives her a reason to laugh at their pathetic attempts.

Mush- and you don't wanna see this kid cry

Jack- ...True...We're a union just by...

Mush- Jack...wrong song.


	4. Chapter 4: Uncertain

**A/N- Well, here it is. I hope you enjoy it! **

**Disclaimer- Disney owns the newsies blah blah blah until the rabid fangirls take over them blah blah blah**

"Why are ya hiding?" a childish voice demanded, running parallel to the crack of the door that was steadily widening and I could hardly see the flicker of light beyond Mush. Broad enough he could hide me entirely but between his arms I could see the unkempt curls of dirty brown hair, and the injured expression of the boy who owned them. If Mush's frame wasn't knocking the breath from me I could've laughed in relief- what could a boy maybe of seven really do? This was our sinister cloaked figure of mystery out of the mist of nightmares, a rosy cheeked, gap toothed child and unless a switchblade was in the pocket of his trousers there was no need for our worry. Finally the shooting stars were making peace.

"Hornet, get outta heah," Racetrack said sternly but he resisted, and against all my predictions the boy backed away from the door and further into the room. Kid Blink cast an irate look towards Mush and I, but all it was of impatience, nobody but Racetrack seeing the child as much of a threat. His warning tone was clear as he pointed towards the door, saying, "Munchkins out!

"Why do ya want me out so bad? Wad are ya hiding?" he asked curiously and I pressed my face against Mush's back to stifle my laughter at the boy trying to rise to his full height, not even reaching Racetrack's mid-waist, an air of stubbornness and defiance that would not be diminished. It was the ultimate showdown- Racetrack versus a seven year old.

"Hornet, ya bettah do as yer told before he squashes ya," Kid Blink warned wisely but with a smirk that Hornet returned with a cheeky grin.

"I ain't no bug! And besides," he added, turning on Racetrack with the mischievous superiority of a born leader. "Dis is Cammie's room. I know she won't be pleased you'se bums are in heah. Remember last time…"

"Last time was different," Mush protested but Kid Blink was remorsefully rubbing his eye, probably a bright shiner the cause for his grief.

"Last time we'se was going through her things and reading her diary," Racetrack added nonchalantly, this sort of thing they must do every day and if I was not undercover I would've slapped him for his audacity- a girl's diary was her soul, off limits to all. Besides, it would be interesting seeing Racetrack's face if I came out of hiding now.

"Well I'll just go tell Jack den," he threatened, and scampered towards the door he never reached, Racetrack shutting it and pulling the boy back into the room.

"Hornet, can ya keep a secret?"

"Of course," he shouted indignantly, his bright blue eyes shining in excitement.

"Not like last time…"

"I've grown up since den," he puffed out his chest proudly and Mush turned his head away, shadowing his smirk.

"Dat was three weeks ago," Racetrack said and Hornet just shrugged his shoulders innocently, the pressure encompassing the entire room as all attention was focused on the two, Hornet winning the round. Anticipation twisted the air around us and finally with a slight nod from Race Mush seized my arm and pulled me around him like a rag doll. I stumbled slightly, regaining my balance and stood before Mush awkwardly like the key to the secrets, color flushing my face from the attention. We held our breath, waiting for the child's reaction, for now everything lay on his shoulders.

"Jack's gonna kill you'se," Hornet said in a sing-song voice, purposefully being obnoxious and I could feel our insides writhing in precious anxiety. Yet I was a girl and all my female instincts flooded me, giving me the chance I needed to set things right. Sewing a cheery smile I ambled towards the awed boy, luck having it I did not have to kneel at all since I was not a great deal taller than a seven year old, and cordially stuck out my hand.

"Lani," I introduced myself, pleased dealing with Caleb had trained me with the little ones. "I'm glad yer heah, da oddahs are getting boring."

"Dey do dat," he giggled, nodding vigorously so his curls bounced and only Kid Blink made a squawk, the others allowing me to do whatever it took to win this boy on our side. "I'se Hornet. Spot Conlon gave me dat nickname when I saved a bee from being squashed by pushing da oldah kid in da river."

"Anybody who pushed someone like dat in da river is okay in me book," I grinned, marveling at the bluntness of children and at the sheer ferocity they can strike with. "Now can you'se do me, nevah mind dem, a huge favor, and not tell anybody I'se heah?"

"Why are you heah?" he inquired suspiciously, peering around me to scowl at the three boys and I regretted the thoughts I knew must be circulating in the boy's mind, never mind his age. He was a street rat I didn't know for how long and came from at least a broken home, but he was residing with older, testosterone driven young men and I could only surmise what knowledge his innocent mind held. There was no protecting somebody from that life, and if I thought just for a second that the boys did not try to one of them would surely have a shiner. It was all in the cycle of growing up far too quickly.

"Hey, hey, hey, c'mon Hornet, don't ask dose boneheads," I laughed and he smiled broadly, revealing the teeth missing in his gap toothed smile. "Da boys are just helping me out a bit, and we'se know Jack…da leader, right?...is in a bad mood in da morning. It'll be like a surprise dat I'm heah."

"A surprise?" he asked curiously and I nodded, foreseeing possibilities and perhaps my ticket to residing at the lodging house if only Hornet plays his cards right.

"Yeah, but latah though. And in da meantime you'se can warm Jack up ta da idea of anuddah goil living heah, or getting a newbie, but don't overdo it and don't make it obvious that there will be one, me. And go tell da oddahs Mush, Blink, and Racetrack already left. Think ya can handle it?"

"I can handle anything," he answered smugly and I chuckled, shaking his hand, before he marched out of the room and Kid Blink rushed to close the door gently behind him.

"You did good, kid," Kid Blink proclaimed in relief but I knew the lines of exhaustion and worry well and could only imagine their turmoil when my scheme had been unfolding, everything out of their control. "Now wad?"

"And now we wait," Mush shrugged, slumping to the ground and I groaned for the awkward silence that would be breaking us all in a matter of seconds. There was nothing left to be said. Only thoughts to contemplate, rules to break, and each of us was left to ourselves for moments as we heard the pounding on the walls, the reverberating footsteps synchronizing with the beating of our hearts, and the roar of voices reenergizing themselves until they would be thrust into the harsh world we had come to know and hate. It was hard to imagine any life other than your own, but whilst I had been developing me own aimless journey's they had always been here. Nobody just appeared out of thin air, and every morning there probably was this chaos, these friendships, rivals, and secrets, and I listened to the society that had been existing even before my own. It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes from the first shout of the first to awaken till the last boy shut the door behind him and all was silent. My legs were cramped from sitting in the same position, although only for about five minutes, and we exchanged looks, each willing the other to make the first move. There was nothing dramatic about leaving the lodging house and leaving, we only chose to make it so.

"Alright, we bettah get going," Kid Blink finally sighed, rising to his feet and we followed suit mindlessly. "Lani can loose herself in da crowd wid whoever, I guess Mush, and me and Race can go get da papes."

"I don't have any money," I said resentfully, watching the ground for the frustration and exhaustion that never came.

"We guessed dat," Mush answered readily without an accusatory tone, which I would be eternally grateful for. "We've got a little extra and ya can pay us back when ya can."

Leaving the lodging house and its shelter was not as simple as our confidence portrayed it to be. Stealthily they guided me through the bunkroom and I attempted not to let my curiosity get the best of me but each bunk was entirely unique, the inhabitant having miscellaneous objects scattered about and they were forced to nearly drag me along like a four year old distracted by shiny objects. The stairs were a disaster in themselves, but I realized then that the third from the top stair creaks loudly enough to call Kloppman and hopping down the rest only leads to falling down at the very end. Maybe it was just lucky that Kloppman was upstairs fiddling with the broken bottles in the washroom, giving us enough time to slip away before he came bustling downstairs.

------------------------------------

"Okay, how bad am I really?" I asked harshly and abruptly halting tugged on Racetrack's shirt, reeling him staggering backwards until he regained his footing and shook me off angrily. I was not one to stand down to dirty looks but I had already caused too much trouble for the boys, the only thing keeping me from attacking those provocative looks I had been receiving since I had first entered the distribution office, and that was hours ago now. Every paper I was instructed to sell somehow resulted in distasteful looks, crude whispers, and the snickers of upper class matrons and however awkward it was to witness a newsgirl the sight could not be so foreign to them as to give them leave to brush past me, ignoring my last attempts at selling papers.

"Its yer first day, relax," Mush soothed, throwing a comforting arm around my shoulders that I stepped away from instinctively.

"And if being a newsie don't woik out fer ya you'se can always sell something else," Kid Blink teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and I thrust my weight against him, knocking him off balance and spiraling into the cobblestones. Writhing on the ground like a fish out of water we left him there and walked on, maneuvering our way around the vendors and Racetrack gathering a larger crowd than the rest of us combined.

"I mean how bruised am I?" I exhaled impatiently, ignoring Kid Blink's protests as he rushed to reach us again, although trailing safely behind now.

"As compared to getting run over?" Racetrack asked wryly and I watched the puffs of cigar choose its course through the polluted air, not needing to see his cocky smirk, tuning out the others laughter. "C'mon Lani, lighten up. Yer jaw's bruised and ya got a little cut on yer cheek, it ain't gonna kill ya."

"But I ain't nevah gonna sell a pape cause of it either, so I'll starve," I retorted heatedly, kicking a loose jagged pebble until I could see it no more. "Dat will kill me."

"People, dem rich folks and tightwads, hate seeing goil newsies, especially when they're beaten," Mush pointed out and that was the unbearable truth that left so many to starve and suffer, in the harsh winter winds to crumble beneath the whip of society. Engraved in stone the laws of genders and the sacred femininity with the epitome of corsets and teacups that was steadily diminishing as money grew scarcer, until we were left here. Perhaps if those privileged few were not so selfish woman everywhere would not have to sell themselves to feed their children, or defy the laws of feminism. But then there would always be those rebelling against the ways of this world, leaving us all still in my place. It was a vicious cycle that would never cease, and even the rising suffragettes could never truly save us.

"Yer playing yer cards all wrong," Racetrack admonished, handling all of his seven papers out of the previous fifty and for that I would be his pupil. "Ya see, in poker ya can't let yer opponents see wad cards ya got. And dats wad yer showing dem rich folks. Yer cards, yer life, same thing. Ya gotta lie, and ya gotta lie good if ya wanna survive. Whatever it takes. Ya don't have two's, ya have ace's, if ya get wad I mean."

After staring at him blankly for a few seconds I sighed, "Actually, no, I don't. Why can't ya tawk like yer normal instead of some crazy old drunk."

"I ain't a crazy old drunk I'se a newsie!" Racetrack shouted but added as an afterthought, "Same thing really."

"He just means ya gotta use wad yer given ta yer advantage," Mush explained simply, and I nodded absently, Racetrack's words beginning to accumulate into something resembling sense in my sleep depraved mind.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I quivered, choking down the trembling and only producing more, as I took a feeble step towards the shrunken elderly woman whose lines around her light green eyes sang of laugh crinkles. I attempted a curtsey in my baggy trousers, pulling at the invisibility of my dress and she smiled sympathetically, seemingly truly interested as I showed her the newspaper. "Did ya know dat Mistah Gabe is related ta da mayor, and is looking fer a wife? I think he'd be interested in ya."

"Why aren't you charming?" she laughed lightly and I smiled with the innocence I had abandoned before I was five. My lips quaked, falling into a meek smile as I looked towards my own feet shyly but I could still see her eyebrows knitting in concern. "Child, wad has happened to you?"

"Oh nothing, ma'am!" I cried wildly, looking up at her with broken fright and I could only live with deceiving the amiable woman because that was how I lived, how I had lived for four years. "It's just me pa. He's a great man with a kind heart, really he is, ma'am! He just misses me mum. She's out west where the air is clean, good fer her health, and he has me sell newspapers ta help raise money so we can go live with her soon. I just haven't been doing so well, ma'am, the weather getting colder and all. Sometimes he gets a bit angry with me."

"Heah," she said gently, reaching into her boot and I struggled to keep my face from glowing. I couldn't decide if children or the elderly were more naïve. From her boot a glistening quarter was produced and I stared at it in amazement as she took my hand and dropped the precious coin into my awaiting palm. "Make yer papa proud."

"Surely this is too much, ma'am!" I protested, hoping that she would not agree with me.

"No it most certainly is not. You aren't as lucky as I am, it's what I can do," she said firmly and I grinned, handing her one of my papers and forcing it into her arms when she waved it away.

"Da world would be a much better place if there were more like yourself around," I flattered as I pocketed the coin and she laughed kindly.

"It would be a lot poorer too."

"Ya pick yer victims well, kid," Mush complimented, clapping me on the back as the elderly woman strolled away and I only hoped she did not hear him. I could not help beaming at their praise and they only seemed a little disgruntled at my fortune, recovering instantaneously though as they boosted their ego's notches when they remember how they were who taught me 'everything I knew'.

"Yer rarely gonna get dat lucky, though," Racetrack reminded me pessimistically and although that was truth it couldn't damper my mood. "Next time ya can get da bulls called on ya, dey might not believe ya, or just not care."

"I know," I admitted as they dragged me along the street. "Old people are suckers though. Weah are we going?"

"Tibby's," Kid Blink responded and I quirked an eyebrow in disbelief but none turned to see my expression, all determinately watching the street before us.

"Didn't ya say dat's weah all da newsies go to eat lunch because it's cheap and bettah den eating papes? So ain't Jack and everybody gonna be dere?"

"Well…" Mush trailed off, looking at me seriously and I scowled and the scheming that had somehow been done when my back was turned. "We figure Jack will be in a better mood surrounded by all of us and food. And it will be harder to turn ya away in a diner."

"Logical…wait, I hate logic! This ain't gonna woik, fellahs," I said resolutely and they turned their heads away at my nonsense, something I was growing increasingly accustomed to. At least they weren't Micah and his adoring loyalists and telling me to shut the hell up.

"Trust us," Racetrack chimed in.

"No," I replied blandly, rolling my eyes, imagining the rousing argument that would've initiated with Micah if such words had been spoken.

"Too late, we'se heah, yer just gonna have ta go along wid us now," Kid Blink said triumphantly and he dodged my swat, shoving open the glass door behind us and I glared at the bell above announcing our entrance. Perhaps the boys adored that bell for in their egomaniacal minds it declared royalty no matter how insignificant you were, but it only attracted attention I could not tolerate. Especially not now, when so much was at stake. Yet I could not hide from those eyes forever and gulping my last breath, making my last words before I embarked on the uncertain I allowed Racetrack to steer me into that crowded diner where my fate lay. So many crossroads determined our lives day after day, moments that would establish the lines of our lives, and the numbers of those determining moments were so infinite we hardly noticed them. But this was one of mine that could change everything. Cast me away and back to the life I knew or for once give me the change to make the change I knew not what was, only to conquer every last challenge thrown to me like a bone to a dog.

"Relax," Race whispered as the door closed with the horrid finality and there was no turning back as greetings reached our ears, addressed to the boys but eyes traveled instantaneously from them to me. Their eyes roamed over my body and I wished to bury my face in Mush's broad frame like a child hiding behind her mother's skirts, but I stood my ground. I cursed the scarlet blush burning my cheeks but it would not recede as I stood self-consciously, acutely aware of every fault in my appearance, every flaw in me. I was dirty, bruised, and sweaty but they only saw a girl amongst a sea of boys, and for only that I received those appreciative grins and wolf-whistles.

"Get a skirt and please each oddah," I snapped, finally reaching breaking point. Immediately Racetrack pulled me away from the spotlight at the front of the room and the other two followed, now embarrassed at my misconduct. Well they should know better after knowing me for a day.

"Whose da firecracker?" one inquired and Blink flipped him off as we scanned for a table. "Nevah mind dat, which one of you'se does she belong to?"

"You, sweetheart," I said sultrily in the seductive voice every girl knew, and I saw him emerge from the table, strutting towards me practically in love with himself. Before I had the chance to punch him Mush thrust me behind him, wrestling down my raised fist as the others cackled at the others misfortune. His face fell only for a second before he allowed himself to laugh as well, nodding approvingly at me, showing everything just for the act. My reaction to that one instigation proved all of who I was to the newsboys, or at least all that mattered to them for the moment- whether I was a whore or not. Evidently not. I couldn't tell if they saw that was a good thing or not.

"Mush! Race! Blink! Ovah heah," a boy beckoned and with their cautiously anxious looks towards me and his prevailing authorative voice I surmised his title, for he was the king reigning over his subjects, subjects that admired and looked up to him. He was the infamous Jack Kelly whom I had only heard tales of, and had seen on the streets few times though he never saw me. The description whispered by the most ghastly street scoundrels and the most hopeful young girls matched this boy maybe of eighteen, slouching in a booth and shoveling food into his mouth. Hornet sat beside him glowing, watching me with the mischievous glint in his eye that told he knew all, and I could only hope that the child hadn't revealed everything.

"Hey Jacky-boy, rope any suckahs?" Racetrack asked casually, spitting in the palm of his hand and extending it to Jack who readily returned the gesture, but Jack's eyes never left mine as he welcomed our group. I studied the red bandana around the cowboy's neck as I followed Racetrack into the booth, the others following suit worriedly. They saw Jack's eyes on me. I could not tell what they were thinking since I dared not interrogate them, I was having trouble enough reading their leader, and anxiously I stared at Hornet who was happily munching on a roll. Catching his eye he smiled reassuringly, and that was all the confidence I needed to know he had kept his word, had held the secret within his heart. Only could I put my faith in him because he was a child, not yet known to the art of lying.

"Jack Kelly, leader of Manhattan. Wad's yer name doll face?" he asked suavely and I snorted, the image of unladylike, but nevertheless extended my own hand.

"Lani, leader of myself," I replied and he smirked, accepting my answer as valid.

"I like her, boys; she ain't falling in our arms like every oddah broad."

"Da goils you know are blind and stupid?" I asked innocently and Mush nudged me discreetly, warning I was going too far and Jack seemed to agree wholeheartedly. I knew better than to press the subject, so I settled back into the booth, willing this all to be over and done with, no matter what the outcome.

"So is dis why you'se three left early?" Jack asked lazily, returning to his plate as we placed our own orders and Racetrack seemed to be who would be handling everything, and all we could do was wait, my life in his hands.

"Nah, we just wanted ta piss da Delancey's off before you'se got dere," Racetrack lied through clenched teeth and I knew the pain it caused him to be so deceitful to someone he respected, who he probably looked up to like a father figure. "And we met her dere."

"Really? So it was just my imagination dat she was in Cammie's room last night?"

I gasped for the oxygen that had been stolen from me by the capers shock and panic, my heart slowing as it ricocheted off my throat and into the depths of my stomach. Breathing coming shallow I wished I could disintegrate into that booth although all withering eyes were removed and pinned accusatorily to Racetrack, wavering between him and the other two musketeers. I was unworthy to be given a second look. I saw Jack's hurt at their lies and betrayal, their sacred brotherhood injured. I saw the boys' surprise and defeat, their guilt worming at the truth that was bursting their very veins. I saw everything and could do nothing. I could not even speak.

"How'd you'se know?"

"I went in last night because I thought I heard something thrashing, and dere she was. You'se three kept going in dere last night and acting pretty damn secretive. It was da middle of da night so I didn't bust you'se guy's right den. But it doesn't mattah how I know, Mush, it just matters dat I know. So when was you'se planning ta tell me?"

"Eventually," Racetrack croaked, all bravery and confidence evaporated like a child caught misbehaving and facing his father's wrath. I was astounded at Jack's serenity, only agitation seeping into his voice and accent, like he was just accounting some anecdote. "Jack, ya know we wouldn't have been able to go on lying."

"I want da truth."

"Da truth?" Kid Blink asked uncertainly, searching each of our eyes for permission to do the unspeakable, which could have everything we had worked so hard for come crashing down. Lastly he looked at Hornet, the young hopeful who only nodded encouragingly. So Blink related everything that had occurred since our first encounter more than a day's time ago, and I could do no more than stare at my trembling hand, could do nothing but observe our discomfort. It wasn't until I observed the deafening silence that I knew Kid Blink had ended his tale, and then felt Jack's eyes on me.

"It's impolite to stare," I said coolly and disregarded the warning looks the others were flashing towards me, even Hornet with his mind so mercilessly molded.

"Get a skirt," he snapped and I smirked, challenging his authority.

"You'd look bettah in one Jackerella."

"Lani, shut yer mouth," Kid Blink commanded and I quirked a lonely eyebrow, but could not dare to press all my luck further or all the mirrors I've dropped over the years and the black cats I've crossed would have their revenge. "Jack, ya said yerself dat ya liked her."

"I changed me mind," he replied crossly, interrupting the others' protests and Hornet's wide eyed surprise. "Do none of ya finks member last time?"

"Last time was different," Mush argued and I looked inquisitively towards Racetrack who smiled knowingly but shook his head, and I knew that now was not the time. Now was the time for sympathy, the times when all my feminine weaknesses and innocence's slaved to get me a free dinner.

"Jack Kelly, yer da leader and would not be one if yer judgment's weren't in favor of your newsies. I understand you're looking out for them, and do not want some foreigner trespassing. But really, what can I do? A poor street rat looking for a roof over her head is all I am. Aren't I like you, some poor orphan and runaway leaving behind the tragedy of broken lives and reinventing ourselves independently to start anew? Yeah, I ain't stupid, so stop acting surprised I have some vocabulary."

"Pity won't woik dis time, kid," he sighed, the exhaustion in his tired eyes earning twinges of sympathy for the cruel sacrifices he must make day after day. I knew he wasn't turning me away because I had done him personal wrong, besides my dumb big mouth, but because he was the leader and his newsies were his responsibility. He could not afford mistakes, and inviting a rube, an outsider, could cost somebody their life. Yet despite all this I could not take it as anything but a personal slight, a critique against who I was, and I hated him for it. I glared at him and he saw everything I did not want him to see, or more so the other three who were watching me intently. My glare not only of hatred but the devastation his decision was causing me, now lost and hopeless, completely alone, and surely they only believed myself to be left to starve on the streets. No, they knew none of how deeply I could be affected by this, forced to go back to Micah's gang a failure and be left skirting the edges of trust and friendship, of life, until I died. In this life that would be in the next year or two, until the winter's harshness or a switchblade left me a forgotten nothingness six feet below the ground.

"I'm sorry," he added and I bit my lip as I looked towards my violently shaking hands, willing them to stop. I could not disguise my sorrow and disappointment any longer.

"C'mon Jack," Racetrack shouted desperately, slamming his palms on the table, rocking it as he stood. Stopping his drink from spilling Jack stared at Racetrack furiously, yet with such curiosity he did not put the newsboy in his place, a mark of their mutual respect and friendship. "Lani didn't do nothing wrong but dare ta speak her mind. And you're gonna turn her away to da streets weah we both know yer bettah dead? Yer gonna turn away a little goil when Jumper nevah did?"

"Racetrack…" Jack warned, drawing the line that Racetrack had unconsciously crossed and he sent his leader, his equal, an apologetic look but refused to sit as Blink suggested.

"Jack, I don't have dat feeling," he continued cryptically but Jack heard the significance in those five words well, their meaning I could not understand and I did not think I wanted to. "You know how lightning don't strike in da same place? Well, I think we're safe from its wrath."

"Lani…" Jack started after a long moment of breathless contemplation, his eyes never wavering from Racetrack's persuasion, and the painful secrets resurfaced at my arrival were becoming more obvious than ever. "I guess I have no choice but ta let ya stay, until ya find somewhere bettah."

"Thank you. Really." My voice shook horribly as I tried to remain composed when really I was tempted to throw myself at his feet, expressing my gratitude.

For all that had happened that day I will remain eternally grateful. At the time, as the boys relaxed and Hornet cheered and recommended himself as the lodging houses' secret keeper, I sat in silence to my ceaseless thoughts. Little did I understand of the happenings and the crossings of fate and choice, of how the character I had built was beginning to fail me. Of the plan Bryce and Micah had laid out for me, tracing my life, making the change I was too afraid to make. Or when the tumultuous relationships of those around me would being to unveil as my own did when I would be introduced to those royal baby blues.

A/N- Okay, there it was and I really, truly hope you enjoyed it. it means everything to me for you to review. I can use the help a lot, I'm pretty inexperienced. Anyway, thank you for at least reading it!

**Shout Outs**

**RosalynMargret- Thank you so much for reviewing, it means so much to me that you enjoyed it. My readers opinions mean everything and i'm so happy that somebody enjoys my writing. Things will start picking up in the next chapter, and I have a lot of ideas to make this story different, or at least hopefully different from the others since this isn't very original. But again, thank you and I hope you continue reading it and enjoying it. I would love to know what you think of this chapter. **


	5. Chapter 5:Arrogance and Defiance

A/N- Well here it is...tada. I hope anybody who reads this enjoys it.

Disclaimer- Disney owns the newsies but I own any character undeveloped by the works of disney.

"Where'd ya live before coming heah, Lani?" Mush inquired with as much sufferable nonchalance as he could portray in his voice; the raw curiosity, suspiciousness, and evasive information leech threatening me with its vibrations, and his suppressed tone was not in the whirlpool of paranoia but as real as the sidewalk that guides our path.

"How much colder can it get?" I mumbled in irritation, evading the question as I pulled my thin shirt closer, the nipping air whipping at it as if I were wearing nothing. Which I guess I might as well have been with the stares I'd received all this day. These busybodies really needed to find some source of entertainment, abandoning pecking at others, observing their flaws, and noting 'the little street rat acting like a man.' It made me grateful I had lived an ostracized life with humanity that of a dream faded long ago, society's morals as insignificant as I was to the statistics of the world. Yet now this dream was fading and agonizingly I was becoming acutely aware to the boundaries of this world, noting every petticoat that these women wore to keep them warm, feminine, and weak, every haggler and beggar that had fooled me this day, and every slight I had been forced to keep my head held high at or I would starve. The newsboys seemed perfectly accustomed to it all- I longed for my rat hole in the furnace room, isolated but at least my ways were the rules of society. My ways never before earned me the looks I had received this day, the annoyance I was becoming to Jack after our _lovely_ introduction, and perhaps even the newsies who had adopted me as a selling partner were growing irritated by my ways. It was no wonder now I was being interrogated, as they had been doing all day, trying to extract every secret I held dear. Their efforts so far had been in vain.

"Trust me, doll, ya ain't felt nothing yet," Racetrack sighed, chewing on the end of his stoogie as he cast an accusatory yet fond look over the city we claimed as our home. The temperature had dropped as the sun had receded and bid its final curtain, the golden orb low on the horizon with the splattered paint of the sunset reflecting in the sky. A film of gray dimmed the brilliant reds and purples, avenging the pollution that scarred this city. "It ain't even November. Come wintah yer gonna be trying ta trick Mother Nature into thinking its summah. And then that will be unbearably hot. Welcome to New York."

"Whatever immigrant decided to move heah is a fool," I proclaimed and for some reason the trio chuckled. Their laughter somehow forced me into an exceedingly disagreeable mood, sounding only as mockery in an already surly state. My life had been lived as theirs had for four years but somehow a newsie was more exhausting than any life of crime I chose, wandering desperation since the crack of dawn and the condescending of most taking its toll. My feet ached, my stomach growled, sleep deprivation taking its fullest wrath, the fight from the day before still injuring me physically, and I just wanted to crawl into the broom closet they called the girl's room and sleep. Unfortunately I was the only one lacking the stamina to continue this day, the three boys wearied but still energized enough to run about the streets shouting obscenities and dueling with sticks.

"You'll get used to it," Mush comforted, seemingly reading my mind.

"The wisdom of Mush tells all, only for two-bits," I grumbled as he raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Great carnival act, Mushy darling."

"I was just saying…" he started and I flashed him a look, his injured tone attracting attention and I was surprised and defeated at the hurt look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Mush, I didn't mean to snap at you. Nothing personal," I apologized sincerely and he grinned, his sunny disposition forgetting the illness of my temperament. There was just no speaking to me when I was like this.

"So weah are ya from?" Kid Blink pressed, the only to not forget the question proposed earlier and the only to dare speak to me. I glared at him forcefully and every fiber of good sense in him should have told him to back off but the boy seemed to lack any sense whatsoever.

"When a mommy and a daddy are too drunk to know what they're doing…" I trailed off, hoping not much would be left to the imagination. The stared at me in surprise, unsure like I was an untamed animal that was forced upon them, but I was growing used to these looks. They weren't used to hearing such words, especially from a ladies mouth. Finally growing fed up with it I growled, "Stop looking at me like dat."

"She was living in a hole," Racetrack announced and I stared at him astonished, before I realized his sarcasm. I referred to my home as my own hole, but he knew none of that. I was alienated from this world, living in my own little reality and to them I had been residing in a cave unaware to society about me. I paid no attention to it and personally did not want to start now. Even for a fortnight.

"Basically," I agreed and they laughed, following my train of thought for once.

Relief washed over me and out of the corner of my eye I knew they were just as happy as I was to see the illumination of the filthy windows, to see the subculture of the dirty bricks and the door that welcomed us all. The sign only announced the presence of newsboys, the two newsgirls now there insignificant to contribute to the green sign. Or perhaps it was for safety, a safety that never should be needed. Whatever the reason I was ecstatic to finally see that lodging house and bounded up the stairs first, waiting the sluggish boys. It was welcoming to finally have a roof to sleep under I didn't have to sneak into every night.

"Happy days," Racetrack cried melodramatically, skipping up the steps as I had done, hopping on the landing and clapping his hands together excitedly. I attempted to push him off the step but he regained his balance and grinned cheekily at his mockery, pushing me into a sullen mood again and I scowled at the other two as they joined us. "Damn it, Lani, yer moodier den a pregnant woman."

"I am pregnant. My baby's dead, dat's why I have nothing on me. Isn't starvation glorious?" I teased and they all laughed, growing used to my insanity. Unfortunately the same could not be said for all.

"Wouldn't reckon yer an easy goil, Lani," a dry voice reverberated behind the half-opened door, Mush just realizing his mistake now. My eyes narrowing I shoved past Mush to reveal Jack's frame silhouetted by the dim gas light in the front room and ignoring the others cautions stormed inside, trying to slam the door behind me for effect but Mush's foot was caught. Casting an apologetic look at his howl I turned a hurricane's wrath upon the infamous Jack Kelly, my leader and my tormentor.

"Oh but fer you I am, my love," I giggled, batting my eyelashes comically as I flowed towards him gracefully as I had seen the flirtations of women do. His beautiful hazel eyes widened but registered my mockery, and for my audacity he seemed prepared to set me in my place.

"Do you wanna be raped or something?" he snapped and I heard the door close behind me, signaling my three selling partners had dared to enter the room with no escape but the stairs. I did not understand what his threat meant, only felt the tension in the room, and the startled aura's of my three comrades who did not appreciate their leader's words. Sensing the turn in the winds Jack shook his head, looking at them disbelievingly before turning on me. "I didn't mean it like that; do you think I'd touch you'se?"

"Sorry I ain't good enough for ya," I seethed, unable to resist turning the tables on him as he stared in bewilderment. My interest in him was about as existent as Pulitzer rampaging through the streets in his underwear would be, but I was acting otherwise.

"Goil, one day yer gonna be sorry. How do you think men are gonna react ta yer attitude. It's bad enough yer in boys clothes…"

"If I was in dat lacy junk and a corset I'd be helpless, I couldn't defend myself…"

"Then you let a man defend you," he growled and I rolled my eyes, my mood somehow falling by the moment until my state was one not to be provoked. I didn't know how long my self control would aid me before it failed. When it failed I did not really want to be thrown to the streets, to become brutally aware of any truth behind Jack's words, so before I snapped I turned sharply on my heel to avoid him altogether. Before I even regained any sense of direction he dragged me towards him, shaking me slightly and any of my attempts to struggle away were in vain. He was too much stronger and he didn't let go as he stared at me furiously.

"Lani, yer lucky I'm letting ya stay heah. I'm yer leader and you mind me, got it?"

"Yes mastah," I retorted sardonically, attempting a mock bow but his grip on me was too fierce. Obviously I wasn't the only one in a horrid mood. His towering figure imposed no threat to me and I stared coolly back, hoping his fingers left bruises so he'd feel remorse. "I've worn men's clothes all me life and have not been accosted so far, thank you very much. And if such were to happen I can handle me own, I don't need a hulking brute to protect me. And I am not, nor will ever be, a slut. Only in yer dreams…"

"We ain't dreamin right now and yer sure as hell acting like one," a smooth voice interrupted and the chill of it ran up my spine, and fighting the involuntary shiver took all my concentration. Jack released my arms, caught at unawares, and I stumbled back into Mush's arms for only a second before I recovered, drawing myself away. All my defenses worked their best at the presence of a challenge, my face becoming emotionless as slowly I turned to face my instigation.

The nausea that sent my stomach into turmoil was not what I had prepared for as I fell into the sharp blue eyes of an unfamiliar face. I fought against the current, assessing the newcomer with an intensity I did not appreciate showing and tried to ignore that twinge in my stomach that had me plummeting towards feelings I wanted to avoid, emotions I was a stranger to. He was certainly handsome, even Jack an inferior, and his attitude commanded attention, the explanation for my initial reaction to him. His lips were in an arrogant yet amused smirk as I drew away from those bluish gray eyes and that golden hair and tried to ignore every feeling I knew associated with an infatuation. Like in those books of old, the books now I decided I wanted nothing to do with. He stared at me appreciatively, probably just for the attention my captivation brought him, and my annoyance was instantaneous. The arrogance about him screamed and he was about as self assured as if he was the king himself, and certainly by twirling that black cane of his he seemed to think so.

"You'd all be better in eternal sleep," I retorted dryly, my words empty and only for the retribution of his harsh words echoing in my mind. Fighting was only how I could ignore my emotions, how I learned to deal with them. But the feelings I knew were a simple attraction were almost too strong. Damn him to hell, the cocky jerk knows what he's doing to me too, it's written in his smirk, in the glitter of his eyes. The womanizer must get this often. My resentment for him only increased.

"I'd watch me mouth if I was you'se or someone might put you in an eternal sleep," he hissed as he took steps closer and I knew my challenge was not received with appreciation. His movements were as graceful as a predator and the danger imposed could not be disregarded, but it was part of what made him so attractive.

"Lucky you ain't me den," I provoked and he quirked an eyebrow, leaned against the front desk almost purposefully teasing me. He brushed at his hair impatiently as he eyed me, waiting for a retaliation I had not heard the instigation to. "And who da hell do ya think you are, da king of England himself?"

"No, but I could be if I was dere," he drawled lazily, pushing off the desk and drawing closer to me still, the twirling off his cane ending as he greeted the floor with it with each step he took. The sound made me cringe inwardly but I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "I'se da king of New York," he whispered huskily, mere inches from me now. My mouth was dry as I searched for the words I did not know, words to impress him with their audacity, but could only feel cotton in my mouth. Those eyes…he knew what he was doing to me and he was enjoying every moment of it. My intense annoyance, my detest, for him was growing stronger with that arrogant smirk. Behind me I felt the tension reaching breaking point, my selling partners stiffening, even Jack becoming wary of where his eyes were tracing.

"Hey man whore, my eyes are in my head, not me chest," I snapped boldly and he seemed taken aback that I dared to speak, and his eyes flamed with an anger that pierced my nerves.

"Did ya jist call me a man whore?" he barked and I smiled innocently up at him, presuming nobody had the courage to tell him the truth before. Forgetting everything I had learned today, ignoring the lectures the others had given me at speaking in such a way, ignoring my place as a woman entirely. I knew I was digging a deeper hole, committing suicide in a boiling pot of water, but it was too late now to take back what I said.

"I believe I did," I retorted emotionlessly and somehow he drew even closer until the air between us grew warm from our combined body heat, the electricity keeping the silence and keeping the connection as we stared at each other. Neither one of us would be dominated, he was too arrogant and I too defiant, but finally he succumbed for something better. Distastefully yet somehow hungrily he looked me up and down, his eyes lingering long enough to have me cross my arms over my chest and give him my best glare as my cheeks flamed.

"So yer existence has a purpose after all," he chuckled, his eyes never leaving my chest and I knew his purpose was only to infuriate me. "Da whore houses will be pleased, dey need da help."

"You need some help, go jump off da Brooklyn Bridge," I ordered, shoving him in the chest at last and he took a few steps back, just realizing what I had done. I did not even realize myself the damage of my actions, but was beginning to feel the danger I was putting myself in. I watched his fingers as his cane stopped the merciless beating and his knuckles became white he gripped it so hard, probably imagining the lovely sound it would make cracking my skull.

"I don't know who you think you are…"

"Really? And who do you think you is?" I snapped, teetering precariously on the edge of my own breaking point and the exhaustion of that day combined with the frustrations and sexual provocations of this arrogant 'king' had my eyes stinging with tears. From the mixed emotions of that morning, not even fully wanting to be here and betraying all these newsies like this, even Jack, and I was so tired I knew that at any moment my body might relapse and I could collapse helplessly to the floor. I was too bloody tired to deal with this right now and feel anything but completely broken inside! "What's so great about you to make everyone let ya tawk ta dem like they're nothing? What gives ya dat right? Why does you'se think yer so much bettah then everyone, who is stupid enough to make ya believe dat? Why da hells are ya bothering me in da foist place? Are ya honestly dat bored?"

"Leave her, Spot," a voice ordered in a deathly calm I never heard, because nobody besides Micah and Bryce cared a dime about me and never had they been on the streets with me. Racetrack had a fiercely protective look on his face when I turned to them all, and Mush's and Kid Blink's looks rivaled his, but I knew they had not spoken. It was Jack, least likely to stick up for me, but most responsible being my leader and the leader of this lodging house and he wanted no blood on his hands.

"I think you'se should keep staying out of it, Kelly," the king rebutted with an equally cold voice, a voice that sent a new wave of shivers up my spine and just now was I beginning to realize just how dangerous he was.

I felt the warmth of Jack's hand on my shoulder and gazed up at him, keeping the hero worship I saw the other boys look at him with out of my expression as he stared down the king who was not fazed. Between the two was a sacred respect and communicating with their eyes I knew neither one of them would ever bow to the other nor neither of them wished to do the other harm. Perhaps there was friendship in this agreement, perhaps just the coexistence of rivals, and perhaps something more. We waited with held in breath as their looks drew away, the king never giving into the demands of Jack but in his very stance the cowboy told him there would be trouble if he did not comply. They couldn't afford these issues on the streets when so much else was at stake.

"And I'm Spot Conlon, leader of Brooklyn, learn it well," the king finally broke as he stared me dead in the eye but his grip on his cane weakened as did his muscles and for the moment I was safe. I would never admit I was afraid of him and truly I was not but the others did not perceive this as to be my winning battle, and maybe for once I should rely on someone else's judgment. "I'm guessing dis is da goil you'se was telling me about, Jack."

"Lani," he nodded, gesturing towards me and I could see he fought with sarcasm, biting it down when Spot's temper was still so near boiling point. Spot snorted with a laughter I did not appreciate and after glaring at Jack for speaking about me behind my back I turned to Spot.

"Spot's any bettah?" I asked, wrinkling my nose in disgust. "Dog boy needs some brains_ and_ a new name."

I was not prepared for the swiftness of Spot's hand as he cupped my jaw roughly, dragging my face back to face his own as he stared me in the eye hoping to intimidate me. His eyes could be that of a serial killers, the last thing a person saw before they never saw again. His fingers were digging into my jaw painfully enough I doubted I would be spared of a memento of this conflict and my neck was nearly ripping out of my body he held me so stiffly. Instinctively, without considering repercussions, my leg kicked out to his family jewels but he dodged my blow with a glimmer of respect in his eyes, and the wild look of a hunted animal. I massaged my jaw and glancing back to my comrades saw that now Jack was physically restraining the other three, my leader apparently feeling I needed to be taught my place. Perhaps he thought it would cure my big mouth and give him an easier time. I'd be damned if I didn't prove him wrong.

"Let dem go, Jack," Spot ordered and Jack bristled at being commanded by anybody, especially on his own territory. Sensing this Spot relied on pure flattery, "Yer boys have brains, dey ain't gonna fight me, I ain't doing nothing to da goil."

Sending a warning glare to his three charges he released them and stepped away, giving them free reign to act as they would, Spot in their line of physical contact and Spot stood there as a target mocking them, just daring them. They turned to me for advice and subtly I shook my head, warning them against it. I'd fight my battles, but I would not drag my friends into them. They probably wouldn't respond anyway, Spot obviously having a reputation to rival Jack's. I had heard enough and just realized it now just how legendary Spot Conlon was on the streets, the most infamous newsie in all of New York, the best fighter, and I had provoked him. Somehow that would make an amusing anecdote for Micah when I returned.

"Jack, I need to tawk ta ya on da roof," Spot suggested and Jack nodded briefly, sending me a warning glare, and in his look threatening me out of causing any more trouble tonight. I smiled sweetly at him and he rolled his eyes before followed Spot up the staircase that I engaged in battle with this morning, and soon they disappeared.

"Are you out of yer mind?" Racetrack demanded, for once taking his cigar out of his mouth to speak.

"Do I really have to answer that?" I asked wearily, casting a longing look up the stairs where my mattress was waiting.

"Lani, Spot could have really hurt you, he's usually above hoiting goils but dis time I don't know…" Mush rambled and I held up a hand, stopping him.

"Please spare me da lecture," I implored, giving them my best saddened and remorseful eyes I knew they didn't buy. "All yer gonna say or yell is 'yer stupid, ya could've gotten hoit, don't cross Spot, he's dangerous, ya almost got us hoit too, learn yer place, stop yer big mouth from running off wid you'se'. There's no point in wasting yer breath."

"Lani, please," Mush beseeched and I did not want to hear the note of desperation in his voice, but it rang louder than Notre Dam's bells. "Spot has a temper and when he's pissed nothing will stop him from revenge. You're undermining his authority, and he ain't as tolerant as Jack, he won't take it. For all our sake's, please don't push him."

As I exhaled wearily I did not want to admit the sigh was of defeat, because Mush's words could not be denied as anything but the truth, Spot's eyes still lingering in my mind's eye, glittering with fury. I choked back all the biting retorts and all the fury that compressed my veins, made my heart beat so hard, enough to dissolve the tears I knew were threatening, too close to breaking. Tracing the ground with my eyes I forgot my pride and managed an ashamed enough look to satisfy even Kid Blink.

"Hey, its yer foist day, you'se don't know yet," he comforted, throwing an arm over my shoulders that took all my self restraint not to pull away from. I could not risk offending anybody else today. "Me foist day I called Spot a scrawny poser and I probably still have da scars, and I was seven den."

"Spotty can't handle da truth," I snickered, imagining how the egomaniacal leader appeared when he was seven. In truth he was not terribly scrawny, his biceps screaming of a life on the streets fighting for survival, but when compared to the abs rippling beneath Mush's and Jack's shirts Spot was lacking. "I am sorry though."

"Don't worry about it. Most entertainment I got all day. Though I should've bet on it…" Racetrack mumbled and Blink cuffed him for the seriousness of his expression, until he cracked a smile and I allowed myself to laugh. Although it would take a good deal of time and a few shiners on Spot's part before I could recover from those penetrating eyes, and laugh about this as well.

A/N- Well, there it was and I hope anybody who read this enjoyed it. I'm asking again, as we all do, can you please review this? Just take a few seconds out of your time and comment, give advice, constructive criticizm, whatever. Please. Mush does puppy dog eyes.

**Shout outs**

**Reffy- thank you so much for reviewingthe previous chapter.brownie points for you! i'm trying to keep the newsies in character, i'm not sure if it's working.It's great that you keep reviewing, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Oh, and Micah and Bryce will be reappearing shortly. hope youkeep reviewing hint hint but i really hope you just liked this chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6:Ice, Fire, making newsies mad

A/N- drum roll well, here it is. actually, that really did not need a drum roll. once again i'm asking for people to review this. I have my pride, I will not beg. falls down on knees Oh, c'mon, how hard is it to review. mutters angrily. But anyhoo...thank you for reading this and bearing with me. :)

Disclaimer- Ahem. Newsies belongs to the creative works of Disney but I do own any character the communists...I mean good kind hearted people...did not create.

From somewhere above my rage now conversed with the only saving me from that life in the furnace room where my own existence I was not sure of. Like a broken bottle of cheep ale my emotions lay spilt on the floor and I tried to find every broken piece, staring at the floor until they would fall onto my face piecing together like an African mask. My heart was beating against my chest so hard it hurt, and I couldn't place anything but nonsense together with my mask dissolved like this.

I can almost see the ashy trail the two pompous leaders left, smoking with the minor deflation of their ego's and their frustration with me, possibly their detest. Everything darkened with that simple thought I believed would not hurt me. I should not care what they thought of me, I never did. That was why I pushed them so hard, spoke like I did because I thought I was not afraid of the repercussions. But I never spared a thought to it before, moving on with my life because I would not see those people again. It was different now. Like a chain reaction everything was changing, and I did not like it. I did not want to care if they hated me or not.

"Lani?" a voice said so softly I almost could not catch it. What difference did it make anyway? These were different people in another world, and our worlds could never mix. Until I felt their eyes on me I did not know they were speaking to me, when everything relapsed and came back in a nauseating flash I almost could not take. Mush was speaking, I heard him, heard that obnoxiously soothing voice used on distraught children but I could not understand his words. My utter stupidity was too loud, rushing through me until I was about ready to strangle myself.

Spot Conlon and Jack Kelly had power. They were leaders of street rats and criminals and I was in their territory where the old rules did not apply. Normally one was not questioned, pasts were haunting and painful and the wounds would not be reopened but I was challenging them. With my disobedience and defiance I challenged their authority and it wouldn't be long before they did not take it, both already on edge. If I was lucky I would be thrown out of the lodging house. If I wasn't I would be killed. They had the power to search deeply into whom I was, they had the connections and the spy's to recover information I buried and they had the wits and the purpose to get me to spill some secret that could be fatal. Nothing would be returned on Lani. But Lisolette was missing, had been missing since I showed up here. Then the game would be over, my life possibly if their anger had not faded.

I was not afraid to die. Yet I did not understand what it was like to die until my last breath. I was young, and the arrogance of that forced me to believe I could not. The possibility of dying at the mercy of those who had welcomed me into these walls was almost too much to bear, and all the bad blood I wrapped tight around me seemed suddenly too penetrated.

"Nobody's gonna hoit ya heah, Lani," Kid Blink said quietly and I looked sharply at him, wondering just how much he knew. Only a lingering sadness was in his light blue eyes and the sincerity in his voice told me he knew just how hard it was to come from the darkness and into the light, to live where we didn't have to run from the atrocities that broke and bled us. Told me that he saw the fear and anger on my face, feelings I would have to work harder at hiding now. Perhaps he saw the self-damnation as well for he reached a hesitant hand out to my arm and squeezed gently. Outsiders would never understand how such simple a gesture could mean everything, but it did. Any other sign of affection would be too strange when we hardly knew each other. It was something my sister knew well, knew that even the friction of skin could be more powerful than the softest words. She used to at least. I felt the sting of tears that did not help hiding my emotions as my mask was rebuilt and I banished all thoughts of her.

"Thank you," I croaked and he nodded, offering a comforting smile that I attempted to return. Unfortunately I wasn't ready and I saw their worried looks, my smile that of a sadness that broke hearts. Inhaling again I reinforced it with as cheerful as I could make it. "So one goil shows up and ya'll go soft on me?"

"Newsies don't go soft," Kid Blink said grimly. His face began to turn purple with the effort to make his muscles flex, kissing his forearm with mock appreciation as he winked at me and I practically gagged, laughing all the same.

"C'mon fellahs. We'se got pokah ta play, broads to conquer, and bottles to smash wid our manly hands," Racetrack said fiercely, his voice husky and lowered octaves as he marched towards the staircase.

"Don't forget building things wid our manly tools," Blink followed him, broadening his shoulders and hanging them like a gorilla's.

"If they're big enough," I snickered, waggling my eyebrows, and the trio turned to stare at me as awkwardly as if I had just suggested having them take me in this room. It was miscommunication from a separation of world's, the only others I had ever known always finding amusement in those disgusting jokes, and I had taken for granted that I was thought of as one of the men there, my status rising with that teasing. Yet from their slight blush they did not appreciate my teasing. I lowered my eyes with my cheeks flaming and for the first time did not retaliate, was not sure how to, and let the awkward silence live through us before I heard their footsteps creaking, signaling it was safe again. Blink was already disappearing up the stairs, but Racetrack and Mush lingered, waiting for me to catch up, showing I was not shunned for my foolish innuendo comment. They didn't say anything about it, and for that I was thankful.

"So I guess I have to face the beasts," I proposed, staring warily at the cracked open door as we reached the landing without further problems. Kid Blink had already disappeared within that roaring noise; apparently the most modest and I stored that away for harassment if I needed the upper hand.

"Looks like it," Racetrack growled, pawing the door before he grinned devilishly and pushed through. I stumbled back melodramatically as if the noise had thrown me off balance, Mush laughing and I smiled innocently, happy for his easy going temperament. Like a gentleman he allowed me to enter the room first and somehow recharged, my misgivings, my embarrassments, my fear, and my fury all disintegrating with the liveliness of my environment. I was affected too strongly by others cheerfulness. I would just have to be careful from now on, try to control myself and not challenge them anymore than was needed.

Mush smirked as I whistled softly at the chaos of this one boarding room, looking as if all the windows had been open during a windstorm. It was doubtful these boys ever cleaned from the layer of dust coating the floor, the grime coating the multiple bunks pushed against the parallel walls where some were sprawled out, though none even attempted sleep, and the clothes thrown over their bunks. Not many seemed to notice our arrival thankfully, too involved with their own tricks and games, and I searched for that door to my oblivion. I couldn't remember exactly where the door to the girl's room was, too caught up in sneaking out before, and I turned to Racetrack pleadingly but found he was already wandering off to one of the card tables. So glad I'm so intriguing to them, though I knew it was no personal slight.

"Well yer all charming," I muttered sardonically and Mush gave me a sympathetic look, accompanying me faithfully or more than likely to keep an eye on me when the others failed to. There was trust for you. "I don't think I can take the testosterone driven barbarians tonight, Mush."

"Yer really gonna go to sleep?" he asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing like that could help him read through me when that only blurred his vision.

"No, I'm going to go do my medieval devil worshipping," I said sincerely and he raised an eyebrow, in his eyes daring me to speak that louder and to anybody else. Forgetting not all were as easy going as he was I cleared my throat, smiled wolfishly at his panicked look and shouted, "Building a bonfire and doing my devil worshipping."

"You're insane," he hissed, his eyes glittering in enough embarrassment for us both as my neck snapped to the hardwood floor. Trying to steady my breathing and soothe my neck I felt the electricity of Mush's irritation, even slight fear, and summoned control and every piece of every mask I knew, just to hide how imbecilic I felt. I didn't want to admit I was wrong, and wouldn't if it was up to me, but I felt the eyes and I felt their accusation, even slight fear at anything against the normal. And I was beginning to understand that I went against everything they had ever known. Lass, you've really got to get some coffee and wake the hell up.

"Mush…?" I whispered into the rippling silence of nearly a quarter of the bunkroom, the rest too self-involved and rambunctious to bother with me. It was not safe to speak again and I was sane enough to know this, to know that if I spoke another word it could quite possibly be reported to Jack and that was something I did not need. Mush knew these newsies and knew how to handle them…or at least I hoped he could. Not that much could be done to me other than shunned. They couldn't be as horrid as some of this society we had all been raised into, they were those who escaped that awful lifestyle. I may have lived in my own fantasy where reality was just of initial's carved into tree's but I knew enough to know how a woman was taught her place.

"Dat man was crazy," he chuckled at some private joke the others had missed, his eyes glittering in a mischief I knew was fake. Yet that was how these boys survived, by revealing things that weren't really there. And I was all the happier they were too blinded by their own friendships to hear the lie in his voice. As Mush fell into a rendition of doing some sort of make believe ritual like an Irish jig I choked out laughter, the others laughing and commenting on the insanity of New York as well until their curious and skittish glances forget me entirely.

"Listen, Lani, don't do dat again," Mush scolded quietly, clutching my arm to draw as close as possible and only blank eyes followed us, his eyes sparkling with a hardness I did not appreciate knowing was underneath the softness of his heart. "I don't know weah ya came from but dese guys don't trust dat sort of thing, even though lots of us don't have no religion. It's a threat to how we live, dey saw ya as dangerous then and when dey judge you'se like dat dey won't trust dere backs turned ta ya fer one second."

"I know, I know, I wasn't thinking," I sighed, wondering just how many more I could offend. He nodded, accepting it and somehow putting some faith I wouldn't challenge him again, at least not like this.

"You'se should come play cards wid us," he suggested and I knew there would be no arguing with him. I cast a last longing look towards the door I had just identified, partially hidden by another bunk, as he pointed out, "It'll help da rest of da guys get ta know ya."

"Cause I love awkward silences," I snapped and sent a wary eye towards the table set towards the back of the room where the gas lights were alit the brightest, smoke clouding the wall above, where the most were congregated. Those with status I assumed, those whose judgments were quicker and more brutal and critical to my involvement with the newsies, my safety if anything was resurfaced, and who had probably heard Jack's complaints or even Spots. Those who I would have the most trouble hiding myself from, and I really did not want to hear all of my flaws in the whispers they thought I could not hear. I half-expected to hear Mush's hurt or harsh rebuttal, but did not guess to see that knowing smirk slapped on his face, a perfect mimicry of Racetrack's earlier. It seemed I had forgotten the lock to my soul and he was reading it in fresh ink. Grumbling about the indecencies of staring I attempted to obscure my feelings once again, but could not help wondering why this day all my lies were becoming faulty. Did I live through a chemical spill and somebody didn't tell me I wouldn't be able to hide my feelings anymore?

"It won't be as bad as you'se think. C'mon, ya ain't scared of me, are ya?" he tested, but I sincerely doubted the others would be as even tempered and sweet natured as Mush was. Rarely were such luxuries afforded to street rats. Still, he had reached a nerve and he knew it too.

"I ain't scared of bogeymen either and I ain't searching out dem for a nice chat or spot of tea," I said knowingly and he grinned, I'm sure the image of a humongous green blob with a frilly bonnet emerging in his mind. Truly, I had never considered anything else after he proposed joining the savages, but it was in my irritating nature to fight everything until it was my own choice, and then would I stroll over leisurely to wherever my attention was drawn. Now that he had backed off I smiled, tossing my long hair over my shoulder for show, and marched towards that back table, my own personal challenge. I would try not to instigate anything too horrid for the night, and at least have it so they wouldn't jump out the window and run screaming into the night if I rejoined them.

"Can ya play?" Racetrack asked curiously, eyeing me with the greed of a born card shark who I was sure would take my money with little remorse and only consider it a learning experience. Another boy swatted him and smiled reassuringly and I mimicked him, Racetrack scowling at the second attack of the back of his head. "Yer lucky yer a goil…"

"Yeah? And wads yer excuse for me?" the lean boy challenged with a sly grin that I recognized as trouble, and I couldn't help but feel compelled towards this kid. At least he wasn't the mighty Spot Conlon and all his own designated glory.

"Yer lucky yer a goil," Racetrack repeated blankly, his provocative expression clearly telling him 'wad else?' I laughed with the rest of them and the dark haired boy threw a couple light punches towards the victor, tossing his head back in laughter just the same.

"Specs," he introduced as I claimed the crate Mush gestured to. Brushing my hair out of my own eyes I watched him spit in the palm of his hand, a gesture I had learned not to turn my nose up at, and spat in my own, shaking with him and felt the calloused hand of a boy whose life had not been that of one on easy street, but the hard knock life we all knew.

"Lani," I responded with a slight cringe, and guessing his spectacles the reason for his nickname.

"It ain't bad, trust me. Can ya imagine being named Parker," Specs consoled, his dark eyes lightening with mischief and from thin air the magical Kid Blink appeared, shoving him in the chest playfully. With mild interest I watched the boys slap fight until they retired, turning back to the cards, and I innocently rounded on Blink.

"Yer name's Parker?" I asked incredulously and did not keep the revulsion from my tone, a disgust everybody but he knew was just for instigation's sake.

"It's a family name," he retorted heatedly, his cheeks flaming, and Racetrack's snort could easily be distinguished from the noise.

"It was his muddah's name too," Race added in an undertone that was purposefully meant for Kid Blink's ears. "Specs ain't da only sissy heah."

"Yer muddah looked like a man," Kid Blink accused and instantaneously the stout Italian was upon his feet, his cheeks tinted red in anger as he stalked towards Kid Blink, getting ready to prey like a tiger. His glare darkened with the taller boy's mocking gaze and a few turned from their cards and their havoc to watch with interest. Never attack someone's mother should be the golden rule of all time. Worriedly I turned towards Mush who remained seated and watching with only amusement, the trace of a smile he tried to hide for his friend's sake.

"Don't worry, dey ain't gonna fight. It's gonna break up in about ten seconds," Specs predicted lazily and true to his word Racetrack spat out something I couldn't understand, their slang foreign, and Kid Blink grinned, calling for a truce.

Nothing seemed to stir for the sake of my sanity and my nerves for the minutes that turned into hours without anybody's notice, time weaving together with such expertise on our dying bed's we'll be shouting for a refund. The cards captured my attention as I put forth every trick I had ever learned in attempts to beat Racetrack, the king of poker, and who didn't bother hiding his whooping glee every round he won. Thankfully, for the sakes of all of us, a boy I did not know beat him once as did Mush. Truth be told they weren't as horrid as I had imagined them, although a few were far from welcoming in the suspicions of their gaze and their agitated looks every time I said something they considered not my place. It wasn't until I heard the awful reconnection of the window opening did it call me back to reality and I saw the younger boys asleep in their bunks, and felt my own exhaustion in battle with my eyelids.

Only a few looked to see whomever had appeared, looking back down in disinterest when they saw it was only their leader, but as I looked over my shoulder I could not dismiss him as others had done. Something in his expression stopped me, in the wearied and hardened expression of a man who had seen and heard too much, of the frustration still glittering in the fury of his face. Stiffening he felt the intensity of my eyes and jerked his head towards me, scowling, warning me not to question him now. I had no intentions of it. His gaze softened then, reading what I wanted him to see, and he quickly scanned the bunkroom for the commands that had to be issued, his moment of weakness over and now he snapped into the action that came with his title.

"Everybody get ta bed, it's nearly midnight," he ordered sternly and heads swiveled in his direction, their complaints and protests choking them before they bit back every argument they had at his glare. His hardened gaze on their backs the younger boys dove for the recruiting call of their bunks, Jack tracing each beeline of every boy and assuring that his newsboys were finishing their stunts and games so their backbreaking lives could begin at sunup.

"Wake up," I hissed to my foot as I heard my opponents rising, violent yawning piercing the chaos and intensifying the scales of the night. I heard the goodnight bids but my eyes were trained upon my leader who now took no notice of me, too concentrated on his leadership, directing those with missing marbles and enduring complaints of the weather as if he could do something to change what was. Admiring that whom had referred to me as easy was not something I intended on doing, especially not to improve an arrogance that needed to be deflated, but I could not comprehend how a mere boy no older than the rest of us could carry the responsibility of lives. Micah, Jack, even Spot, were all in the same category of crazy. Their authority over all of these newsies somehow gave them their title, just so the emptiness of our hearts when any parental figure epitome was broken could somehow be fulfilled again.

"Don't know how it is weah you'se come from but round heah when somebody tells ya ta get dey mean now."

The strike of the upper hand pierced through me like the constructed arrow it was designed to be, its launchers electric arrogance parading rain on my reverie. Somehow already he had won in the dimensions of his mind, the self assured predator conquering its surprised prey caught off guard. Controlling the rapid whitening of my knuckles as I gripped the splintered edges of that crate I tried to hold the reigns on my temper and rage, under my breath just trying to remind myself of all the promises I had made. He was nothing more than a boy who thought too high of himself and just to get a rise out of me was the mold for his comments, just attempting to put me in his place. I would just have to try harder at ignoring him so he'd get bored and go torment somebody else. Sluggishly I relaxed, the tension evaporating as I genially shuffled my remaining cards, stacking them neatly.

I had underestimated Spot Conlon and just how far he'd go to prove nobody challenged him. His warm breath reached my neck, his face so close I'm sure he saw the hairs on my neck rising, and I fought ever emotion that rose like bile, leaving the bad taste of vulnerability in my mouth. He was an expertise, every breath a sweet purr and he stirred all feeling I had locked deep away. It was what he needed- my masks to fall overwhelmed with true emotion and to fall helplessly into his arms, where he would drop me to the floor and never look behind him. I knew all this but as his hands delicately caressed the hollow of my neck the involuntary gooseflesh rose, as my blood rushed and I sunk further inside myself. The womanizer knew. He knew every promise I had made and he was trying to break them as easily as he conquered every other ninny that flounced by. I might've underestimated him, but he knew nothing of me.

His yelp reverberated throughout the scampering mayhem, captivating an audience I did not want the pressure of, and I could only hope Jack or Mush had not heard. Gloatingly I watched him disgustedly wipe the spit from his eye, already feet from where he had just been where he had sprung back. Trances were broken, snapping like strings pulled too tight, and I was light headed. Dizzy. A noise buzzing in my ears clogging everything like attacking mosquitoes except everything went numb. Like falling off the docks with the last glitter of sunlight as one sunk from the mosaic crystal blue surface and further into the eternal cold as we drowned, coming to peace with everything as it all became numb. Shaking my head like a confused animal I tried to clear my head. I had to be ready for whatever the retaliation.

"Good spit. Perfect aim, good force. Like a man," he seethed for half a dozen newsies were awaiting his attack, but to him it was before the entire world. I smirked cockily for he was inwardly stammering for a response, for the first time caught off guard. Surprising nobody spat at him before. His eyes darkened at my dominating grin, aware his faults were clear, and I tried to ignore the chill spreading through my lungs, engulfing and choking. My smile faded as I could only concentrate on not backing away from the maniacal glitter of fury piercing his graying eyes, from the lighting or the flame of ice devastating and killing everything in its path. His smile was cold as he took a menacing step closer. I felt the breath held in from all our audience, his edge enough to frighten hardened thugs. His voice was ice yet with the confidence of somebody who knew had the upper hand as he spat out, "Only woiking goils and men spit like dat. And I can't tell which one you'se is. Waddaya think boys? Who knows what we'll find undah her clothes."

I wanted to be sick. Right here in the bunkroom. Vomit. I wanted to scream. Right now in front of everybody and god himself. One piercing blood curling shriek. But I couldn't breathe as my heart attacked my chest and sent the stimuli to my brain that wasn't functioning, the angel and devil on my shoulders for once not bothering me. Circling like a shark smelling fresh blood he slowly circled me, never tearing his eyes away, as I remained still. His eyes bore into my soul as I inhaled sharply and reeled back from his groping hand, the heat flashing across my skin. I could not feel the coloring of the winds, only the hunger from blood and sex thirsty street rats that were ravenous for the only pleasures life gave them with girls starved for the unpredictable. Willing or unwilling they took what they saw as theirs and I was a woman belonging to nobody with no status and penniless. A girl who talked boldly who was up for the taking, who deserved to be raped in their twisted little egotistical minds.

"Ya should be begging fer us ta touch ya," he whispered huskily seductively appealing yet with a danger in his voice ripping through me. Defiantly I glared at him, surprised at my own emotionless ness, just hoping it was enough to keep him at bay until I could search out Jack or Mush, Blink or Race, anybody that would fight back though not stupid enough to lay a hand to Spot. I didn't like playing the cliché role of a damsel in distress but I knew well enough that I could not save me from myself. Now I proposed no challenge, no threat, no fear, only daring to not grovel at the mercilessness of a king. His eyes bled me like a dagger as he clutched my wrist, twisting it as I struggled but stumbled and fell towards him, grabbing for his shirt before I fell. Releasing it he did not release me but just grinned wolfishly. "Eager now?"

"I hope you choke," I snapped, struggling as he dragged me further to him, his other hand snaking around my waist like we were posed for a waltz. If we were my wrist would not be bruising in his fingerprints and I would not be suffocating against his chest.

"Den I'd be remembered. And you…" he hissed to the top of my head, his breath tickling my ear. "Nobody would give a damn about you. Just like dey don't right now."

Sharply I looked down and blinked back the tears he knew his cutting, stinging, slapping words would bring. I knew. Bastards like him fed off the weaknesses and fears they smelt like bloodhounds and now my own self-damnation and worthlessness was haunting me. My hopes for one of the boys to intervene were never realistic in my heart, and somehow he knew. I tried to tell myself again I did not care. Yet it wasn't just them…it was watching those with loving families crawl into their parents arms just as the world turned their back to them. It was those with siblings who did not transform into heartless and cruel beings. It was the fact that people, anybody, could watch a girl be beaten and raped and left for dead, and I wasn't sure if I were to be conquered right here anybody would stop it. Maybe they'd want to. Maybe they'd think I was being taught my place. If I was attacked right now there was no prophecy ordering anybody to intervene, to do anything at all about it. They had no reason to. I was not one of their own and they had no reason to risk their lives; I was not any one of their girl's or their sister's.

He let his words sink in, shattering my walls like a bullet from a gun before his grip relaxed, the supporting arm about my waist dropping and I fell from him and hard to my rear. He chuckled but otherwise there was only a heavy silence I could not read. How could I feel when I was feeling for two people? Lisolette and Lani, both in the same, both should be detached when I had avowed to give up these feelings that only caused devastation and weakness in the end. When I had buried every burning flame to be just a lifeless corpse. Can an abstract ghost of a heart still beat?

The silence was bordering unbearable of the crystal mosaics of mausoleums, each breath disrupting the eternal peaceful resting of those escaped, now each heartbeat a disruption of the battle. I had been wrong in hoping for someone, those who weren't even friends and only newsboys stuck with me, because nobody challenged Brooklyn without a punishment of severity. I was lucky I was female. I saw the congregation of those I had begged the fallings stars for help if it came to that, Mush and Blink, Jack and Racetrack, looming apart from the ring that had formed around Spot and I although they weren't part of our inner circle. Looking ready to pounce at further instigation, their irate expressions and Jack's dark deep glare contrasting, telling me I was getting exactly what I deserved.

"Yer wrong Brooklyn," a calm voice erupted and every head jerked sharply to the source daring to go against everything that had ever known by rule of rumors, intimidation, corruption, or a hard lesson dealt through steel fists- Brooklyn was never wrong. The sacred silence had been broken and now startled mutters were running through the crowd at everything, some looking shocked, some terrified, some merely interested, and now beginning to get restless and craning their necks to search for the lone protestor. Overpowered by curiosity I looked up, feeling the boil of anger at needing the help, but the voice was not one I expected or knew. At first I didn't realize the pitch, the strength and fire reminding me only of Spot and the force should be only of a male, but the voice was female. Apparently I was not the only girl around here who dared refuse the novelty of being their tramp.

"When someone tells ya dere's a foist time fer everything, dey weren't including being wrong and me," Spot snarled, his nostrils flaring as he tossed his golden hair away and shanked me with those eyes. Mesmerized I watched the transformation as he turned his attention away from lesser matters like me and into where the shadows entwined with the light. I saw the girl now, leaning coolly reserved against the frame of a bunk beside the musketeers and bandana boy, arms crossed and glaring daggers at Spot Conlon.

"I believe _you_ were da one who told me dat _you_ were wrong bout dat fellah…Brutus whathisface," she retorted airily while I rose, feeling something solid beneath my feet, refusing to be seen as weak now, but no longer was I much of interest to the crowd of short attention spans. I glared at her for her confidence yet even a master of disguise could not douse the envy I watched her with as she pushed away from the bunk and advanced. Spot was not treating her like he would one of the boys, who would be down in a bloody mess in seconds, or me, because there were no vibrations of hardened fury, disgust, or the lowliness of addressing a two bit whore. Only impatience and a definite warning.

"So I guess dis makes it da second time," she continued, reaching the center ring of our freakish circus.

"Dis ain't involving you," he warned her much as the musketeers had warned me earlier to stay away from the Brooklyn leader. Well, I listened wonderfully to that advice.

"And jist wad am I wrong about? Cause I ain't seeing nodin but da truth," he sneered, gracing me with a look of mocking intrigue and revulsion, his eyes lightening with sparkles of laughter. The biting hatred choked me as I watched him, and still my heart couldn't blacken towards him with the laughter, no matter how mocking, lightening his expression. My heart beat a little quicker.

"Oh no Spot, dis involves me perfectly," she said calmly but her eyes were no longer lingering upon a boy that could crush her with one swipe. With disgust she stared at me, aware of the exchange between Spot and myself when I had allowed the tug of a smile to escape, and she rolled her eyes before continuing though her stare didn't waver. "Had ta stop dis. Tell ya da truth dis was getting a bit too Shakespearean fer me taste. But ya _were _wrong. Dere's always somebody who cares, even if yer da drunken bum who kills da neighborhood children. If something happened to him den dose who he bought da drinks from would loose money. And unfortunately whether we like it or not da newsies care bout more den demselves and dere own."

"Yeah. Da tightwads who buy da stupid papes," I teased and the light was turned upon me, heads swiveling now just remembering I was here. Apprehension stretched across the bleak moment in this chaotic night like a tiger had escaped its cage and the ringmaster was busy capturing the other, torn in half between the two.

"She speaks," Spot provoked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, sparks of fire melting the thin ice I was treading on. "Bout time ya stopped acting da coward."

"I can fight me own battles," I seethed and his wolfish grin widened, knowing just how deeply his comment had cut under my skin, just as he had anticipated. Believing he was always one step ahead of everybody and I wanted to strangle him. Addressing the girl now I added, "He was right fer once. Dis don't involve ya. How does it involve ya?" I snarled before she could protest, could question me, just like her opened mouth told me she would.

"Told ya already, didn't I? Dis was getting so dramatically nonsensical it was sickening," she repeated smoothly and her unwavering gaze darkened at my raised eyebrow. "I wasn't gonna let Spot loose his honor by hitting ya, not like ya don't deserve it. If I have to I'll soak ya and anybody else who can't keep dere mouth shut."

"I'se oldah and biggah, higher on da food chain den ya," I retaliated as she prowled closer like a seasoned fighter and the intimidation in her fiercely intense look had me back a step away before I regained all composure and stepped closer, challenging her with my own brutal look. She looked younger by at least a year and was smaller than me by a good two inches, her waist and shoulders tiny, and from the looks of her I could snap her like a twig.

"Age is just a number. Da smaller da faster. And who wid da most reason fights wid da most passion," she recited as she stopped just inches shy of me, her predatory movements vaguely familiar.

"Oh really? And wad is yer reason?" I shot back in pure amusement, hoping to catch her off guard, but the little mosquito didn't hesitate.

"Nobody insults me bruddah and me friends. Me family," she hissed and confusion poisoned my senses leaving me vulnerable to her attacks because of pointless curiosity, because a valuable piece of information had been left out and I had to act like I knew it all. Reevaluating this girl she must be the only other that lived here, who had a brother and because she was in Brooklyn all this day and was now accusing me of insulting her brother it could only be logical that she was a Conlon. My head span at the thought, recalling Spot's tensed look as our threats of fights evolved, my emotions arguing with each other on how to react to her now. I could fight, I had no doubt in my mind that I could, but if anything happened to her every code of honor on not striking a girl would be thrown to the winds. Yet she was a Conlon and had probably been fighting all her life as well, probably had been taught by Spot and his mentors, and probably carried her own reputation. My resolve on fighting was weakening as she stared, watching me, and I had a feeling she knew it all.

"Camelot Conlon," she introduced to break the lapse in time that was growing between us as I tried to grasp some answer in what to do, and putting an end to my last thread of doubt. Looking between the two their danger and unpredictability they shared, though he was ice and she was fire, and they bore no striking resemblance. Her hair a waved auburn and years of toiling through the streets having no affect on her porcelain skin, her chameleon eyes no distinct color but blues, greens, and grays woven together. Placidly I studied her as she returned the gesture and I tried to hide my own jealousy, men surely reacting just as strongly to her as women did to her brother.

"Lani," I finally replied though neither of us broke our steady stares, muscles still tensed and ready to attack if provoked, neither of us knowing what to say to now break this awkward silence.

"Well Lani, seems you'se been giving me bruddah heah a hard time," she said with a hard edge to her voice, beginning to pace before me like a stalking lioness defending her territory, giving me the chance to beg for her mercy. I had no intention of doing that and no intentions of being brought down like an antelope.

"It's hard not ta," I defended cautiously, aware that every syllable I uttered could be used against me. "I ain't gonna fall inta his arms if dat's wad ya mean. I ain't anuddah epitome of da perfect goil, I have me own mind and I ain't afraid ta used it. As Spot's sistah I thought you'd respect dat."

"Wad makes ya think I don't?" she said quietly, turning and giving me leave to see the emotions we all hid, a glimmer of respect shining in her eyes as she nodded very slightly approvingly and just that much seemed to reverse the fire she had been ready to scorch me with as she turned on her brother. "I think ya bettah get used ta yer 'charm' not woiking on every broad."

"I don't count goils like her as broads," he condescended and I wanted to lash out at that cocky smirk disguising what he wanted to hide from the world. It was probably just the lighting but deep within the shadows of his eyes I thought I saw a glitter of something more than what his surface portrayed. His eyes flashed when he knew I knew something he wasn't letting in on, bristling with my understanding. I pitied the bastard- his own sister wasn't going to set me in my place, his last plan dissolved, and his own charms were failing him. Just that minor deflation of the king's ranking was enough to lift my spirits but only slightly, because my own ego had suffered with his blow. I couldn't sort through my emotions right now; I had no time for it, only to store it far away and to pull it out only when the sleepless nights plagued me. I only smiled sweetly and from his annoyed look I knew I had succeeded in getting under his skin.

"Shows ovah," Jack proclaimed, physically directing his newsboys away from the three ringed mayhem and I bit every word I might've said to Spot Conlon when I felt my leaders glare like white hot iron. Unintentionally I had just broken the promises I had made to myself about not pushing these powerful figures, not only by loosing my temper to the taunts of Spot but to Jack as well, because unconsciously I had undermined his authority and created a disruption I knew right now he didn't need. Dammit, all this night I was getting people angry with me.

"Wad a boring way to end an evening," I heard Camelot mutter as the numbers in this room dwindled. I hardly heard her though, watching Spot looking partially deranged from the corner of my eye. With his hair mussed he seemed anything but tamed yet my main concern was not on the retribution in the days following I would have to endure for our little disagreement, but for his sister. He didn't appear too happy with her, never mind me, giving him the part of an ass and fool before those who respected him. Not that he needed our help for that.

"Ya staying heah tonight, Conlon?" Jack inquired as he finally emerged from shoving his last newsboy into the washroom, and assuring that the younger one's who were already passed out were still dreaming.

"I just might do dat, Jacky-boy. Brooklyn can last one night widout me," Spot answered smugly.

"Lucky dem," I murmured and Jack sent me a fierce warning glare that almost made me regret Spot was such a jerk.

"We get up in a few hours, get some sleep while ya can," Jack instructed gently and for once I had no reason to fight him, only to smirk knowingly towards Spot Conlon for a reason not even I knew before I tossed my hair over my shoulder in a signature walk as I looked for the camouflaged room door.

"I'se gotta tawk ta me sistah foist," Spot said firmly and I saw Jack silently arguing for him to let it be, yet he had no chance. She winced for the foreshadowed lecture as Jack watched the siblings pityingly. Well, at least we agreed on something. Rarely had I thanked my lucky stars that I didn't have an older brother, but this was definitely one of those times.

"Night captain, Spotty darling, Spotty darling's sister," I bid as slyly I reached for the door and disappeared within it before any retorts or shoes could be thrown. This night I could sleep through the night, my mind too tired to bother with petty thoughts. Tomorrow would come soon enough and whatever it may bring.

A/N- Well there it was welps. Mixed emotions towards this chapter- one moment I think it was okay but then I'm all ROAR! Hey, maybe I could know what others think of it. How does that happen? hmmm...I wonder. Maybe if somebody would review this. wow, what a great idea. amazing if somebody does review this but it would make my day. c'mon, i've been sickwith the flu...i mean the plague...yeah that's it and had stupid family crisis. Anyway...hope I did a good job and this chapter was enjoyed.

Shoutouts

Reffy- Cookies for a loyal reviewer:) Whoosh, very glad, more on the ecstatic side, the previous chapter was enjoyed.You have no ideahow much I appreciate your reviews, especially since they're more than 'good update'.I'm so glad at least somebody likes this story, I probably would've given up with it already if there were just the crickets. don't know how i did with this chapter, wrote most of it with a fever or with teachers dirty looks, but I'd love to know what you think of it hint hint. Goshers, Spot's is soooooooo flipping dangerous, can you imagine if there were more like him wandering the streets? yup, there will be a bit more of jack lani moments, especially in the next chapter. heh, this is probably really boring for you though so I'm gonna stop rambling and just say I hope you liked this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7: Inaugurations

A/N- Well, here it is. sorry it took so long to update. its been crazy lately.

Disclaimer- why must we write these all the time? It's obvious we don't own the newsies, and we're not making money off these things. it's a stupid rule since people forget all the time anyway. but the newsies belong to disney. happy government?

Noise tickled my deafened ears with darkness only compressing my fluttering eyelids as the outlines of vibrant dreams faded and trying to rejuvenate them would be just as pointless as trying to capture a butterfly. Strange how to the mind dreams are so refreshing, even when I couldn't remember much, like sand sifting through my hands, each grain leaving before I had a change to analyze it. Not that it mattered much now- only the war between awareness and the comforting coolness of behind my eyelids mattered. I could not keep my eyes closed for whatever lay behind my eyelids forever, or it would lure me into thoughts I needed to keep chained away and sealed with a kiss of lies.

"Wassamattah?" I slurred groggily like a bumbling drunk. I had drained the glass of sleep and was feeling the full blow of it, and now there were no men to join me in a rousing chorus of 'God save the King'. My mind was already ticking slowly like a drunk's, because for a minute I did not comprehend why there was no heat from the furnace and only the overwhelming chill sinking towards my rattling bones like a tap dancing skeleton. Shivering I reached for the light sheet instinctively and wrapped it to my chin, trying to remember if I had been drunk and fallen asleep somewhere. Until the rushing memories made me all too acutely aware of where I was.

"Da savages are hungry," an irritated voice muttered in the darkness. The repugnant taste of stale breath welled inside my mouth from just waking and moaning quietly I rolled to my side, my eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness.

"How come ya'll wake before the sun? Can't expect ta sell papes wid nobody out," I queried and Camelot snorted from her place on the mattress, in a position I can't even imagine how she had gotten into.

"Think about dat question before ya ask it, Lani. Don't want to sound as stupid as the boys now do ya?" She must've felt my glare for she continued, acknowledging it was too early for proper thinking. "Ya think a bunch of lazy bums will get out da door early? Dese nuns give us a roll or two so we'se gotta have time ta catch dem, and den have time ta walk ta da distribution office wid being early. Some of da newsies don't have dat good of a place. Jack wants to make sure everybody gets enough papes."

"A place?" I asked, confused but accepting of this logic.

"Weah we stand in line. Some of da newsies dat got homes get spots in front of da younger ones, or da quieter ones, if dey can back demselves wid dere fists. Jack'll step in when things go too far but it's humiliating. And if dere's one thing dat Jack understands its pride."

"Embarrassment wouldn't kill him," I muttered, recalling the reddened face of my leader as I undermined his authority. "Woith a shot though."

"Lani…" she trailed off but I heard her threatening tone, warning me she wouldn't stand down to that kind of talk to who was probably a surrogate brother, and to who she respected for reasons beyond my comprehension. I hadn't seen anything from Jack Kelly but an arrogance disguised as leadership and an authority figure I had a problem with.

My heart leapt in surprise, skipping its own tune as the door vibrated. Something or somebody had been thrown at the door, but now quieter it sounded again and the door hardly rattled in its unsteady rusty hinges. I groaned and flopped onto my back at the incessant knocking.

"We've been summoned," Camelot said bitterly. "Go answer da door."

"Why don't you?" I snapped back, propping myself on my elbows as the door continued to rattle; now growing louder.

"Cause it's my room."

"Now it's both our rooms."

"Yer lucky I didn't soak ya last night," she growled menacingly and I knew I should take this girl seriously, obviously having a reputation of her own, but the earliness of the hour could be blamed for my eyes rolling. "I should've aftah how you'se been treating me bruddah and Jack."

"I can not believe you're getting so upset over this," I cried, crossing my arms but I knew neither of us would budge, both too stubborn and giving in would mean we were subordinate. We were lionesses thrust together, each invading the others territory, and it was too early in our acquaintance to see much else than a threat for female dominance.

"If you'se don't open dis door right now I'se gonna tan both yer hides! Maybe den you'll have a liddle respect," Jack threatened from beyond the door, a door I had once thought to contain a forbidden secrecy, as the doorknob rattled. I could see a chair propped under the doorknob to prevent anybody from barging in without knocking.

"Jack gets a liddle cranky in the mornings," Camelot responded cheerfully to my wary glance, weighing the threat better as she threw a boot at the door. "We're up! Now who's gonna answer for our guest?"

I smirked at her sly grin but graced her with the pleasure of it, both of us now feeling sparks of Jack's impatience. Adjusting her clothes for modesty's sake she strolled towards the door and purposefully boisterously removed the chair to allow our guest to penetrate our domain.

"Well aren't we a ray of sunshine, Jacky," I greeted as he threw the door open, not sure if I wanted to instigate him so early but I couldn't resist at his blustering look. His greased hair was tousled from sleep, his cheeks pink from the imprints of his mattress and his clothes wrinkled- if he didn't look so livid he might be cutely childlike.

"I thought I told you not to block da door, Camelot Conlon," he said heatedly, pointedly ignoring me and from her significant look I could read he wasn't truly infuriated with us but now wasn't the time to question him. Perhaps later we would know what that something else was that was bothering him but now we were the brunt of his anger. I loathed being used as his outlet but unfortunately my own pride took a blow since I understood where he was coming from.

"Would you'se rather da animals somehow found their way in my room," she replied calmly and seeing the flame rising feverishly added, "I know da boys heah ain't like dat, but Skittery's friend from Queens who spent da night I ain't so sure about."

"If dere was a fire…"

"I have a fire escape by my window and da likelihood dat'll happen is about one to a million."

"Don't block da door again. And dat goes fer you'se too, Lani, in case you'se think ya can pull one over on me and she can block da door instead," he commanded, sending us both stern glares to assure us he meant what he said. His resemblance to a neurotically strict father was growing but I held my tongue, not really wanting to hear a regurgitation of my actions last night.

"Camelot, yer bruddah wants ta tawk ta you'se before he heads over da bridge," Jack informed her, his eyes narrowing at my prominent grin and from the cinders of violence burning there he could read me clearly, but for once I did not care.

"Can dogs swim?" I mused and I was indifferent to Jack's jaw tightening with restraint. For now everything problematic was that I had nearly formed somewhat of an ally that rapidly I was loosing with my condensation.

"I think ya better take dat back before we'se find out how well you'se can swim. In blood," Camelot hissed in a voice softer than the sleek coat of a kitten. Venom poisoned my curling blood as I calmly studied her, observing her tensed muscles ready to pounce and the change in her eyes, not quite like the serial killer's her brothers were but with their own threat of fire just as heavy. I knew how to pick my battles well, and in a lodging house I was not entirely welcome in this fight could mean exile.

"Dey can swim well," I replied dryly, unsure how to back away without turning my back like a coward. I could be risking everything just to save face.

"Spot don't like waiting," Jack reminded her, purposefully breaking the tension, cutting the strings on a marionette leaving us with no idea of how to react. Her expression mirrored mine, trapped like a deer in bright light, but Jack was the leader for some reason and knew enough to avoid these useless conflicts that would only create trouble for him later.

"Well he could use some patience," she seethed, spinning on her heel with a warning look from Jack and leaving the two of us, his glare burdening me until I had no choice but to look away.

"Dis ain't woiking," Jack sighed and the weight of his words only a minimal signal for whatever was to come. In my mind his announcement of my departure was wrestling with other images of how I would be thrown back to the streets and left to face Micah a failure, not even strong enough to last three days with the newsies, who I had thought I had despised for their seemingly easy life. One lonely thought flitted by; I had no commitment to Micah and Bryce to return. It would be simple not to, and if worse came to worse to avoid these newsboys and everything else trains were not difficult to hop. The thought had always been there, but I had never given it much time, always thinking I could not run from everything forever. But I could if I was given the chance to start over.

"Ya don't act like da oddah goils, ya don't act like a lady should," he began, his voice surprisingly civil, only exhausted. "I've seen enough ta know ya lived on da streets, and I don't wanna turn ya back to dat hell."

"I ain't a charity case," I interrupted proudly. "I've been doing fine on da streets and it ain't no heartbreak to be relieved of you'se and yer bloody newsies. I don't need anybody. I can make it on me own."

"Are you honestly dat naïve?" he snapped, surprisingly emptying me of any words that were ready to spill. "Dats wad we all would like ta think, ain't it? Dat we'se fine. Dat we don't need help. And cause of dat do you know how many good newsies I've seen go off dere trolley? Addicts to drug, sex, some even going as far as suicide.

"I see it everyday, sweetheart. And yer headed straight down dere alley if you'se keep tawkin high and mighty like ya don't need anybody, if ya keep everything bottled up and dese ghosts of yers wrapped tight. Wake up, we all have scars, some worse den oddahs, but we all got em. We wouldn't be heah if we didn't."

"Wad are you trying ta prove, Jack?" I cried, sick of this way of thinking. Sick of this pointless lecture that should only be telling me I'm a basket case that doesn't know her place and should pack up her nonexistent bags and leave. This psychology had no point but to reopen a can of worms and to prove he was some almighty enigma that knew everything.

"Ya ain't listening ta me, Lani," he retorted angrily, the desperation in his voice just trying to make me see things his way. "I ain't saying fer you'se ta go like some milksop moping bout whatever has ya scared ta death ta face reality. I know yer type. I saw it in you'se from da moment I met ya. Ya walk around wid a fake smile and a strong spirit wid who ya are locked deep inside. Trying so hard to not feel anything so every emotion is buried deep inside until eventually ya reach yer breaking point, and ya snap. Ya break. Ya get insane. Why do ya think dere's so many crazy people in da world? Dere mind has snapped in defense. I don't want dat to happen to ya. No matter wad ya would like ta think yer a good person and dere aren't enough of dose in da woild."

I tried to wrap my mind around everything he had just said but thoughts were swimming and flashing, moving too fast to grasp any one of them. I hated him right then, for seeing what nobody else saw, for feeling what it seemed I only felt, for making me see it like this. It could be devastating towards who I was. His compliment, if it was that, only infuriated me further because all he was trying to do was make me see how he wanted. Like some dictator convincing everybody to see just like him. But when he paused I was too wrapped in my thoughts and was loosing my chance to speak.

"I could see it in yer eyes before yer planning ta skip town. Nothing is gonna leave ya alone. Ya think da ghosts aren't ever gonna catch ya?"

"Why are ya tawking like this? It don't have to do wid kicking me out," I said furiously, my mind too confused to be civil.

"It has everything to do wid it, and I ain't kicking you out. Not yet anyway. Ya gotta get ta da root of da problem. Do ya really think you'se would respond so sharply to Spot or me if ya weren't so angry? Yer angry cause yer holding everything inside, getting upset at da liddle things though they ain't wad is bothering ya. Dat's da main reason I was bout ready ta kick ya out last night."

"I'se smart enough to know ya ain't gonna change much cause of dis. I know how much dis is all bothering ya and yer gonna probably store it away. I'se just warning ya now how yer acting ain't wise, and yer my newsie and I don't want ya getting hurt. Trust me, ya will eventually, especially wid how you'se and Spot act round each oddah. I'm telling you'se now, unless ya want ta reach dat breaking point hold yer tongue when yer around him. He's capable of making ya feel things ya shouldn't ever feel."

"Wad do ya mean by dat?" I demanded but my question was pointless when I already had the answer. Even an initial introduction with him, without us saying a word, he made me feel things I never wanted to feel. It was his nature, a nature very few boys possessed, but some magnetism in them made every girl want to throw themselves at their feet and grovel for them to pay a moments interest before they would be left heartbroken, while they were just toys to Spot. I hated the bastard for that. I hated him more than any boy I had ever known. I didn't want to admit to myself that Jack was right, but the danger of Spot Conlon had been nothing compared to now. Even his resources, that he could find who I really was, was miniscule to what Jack was saying now. I could not break, I would not let myself, and I would not let Spot be the one to do that.

"I think ya know," he replied in a cryptically significant tone. "But besides all dat, ya gotta stop undermining me authority every chance ya get. Dese boys look up to me, dey respect me, and making me look like da fool is causing problems already. They're beginning to second-guess my judgment since a goil is getting da best of me. Mutiny even, or they'll start mimicking ya and den I don't want ta have ta set dem back in dere place. I'm telling ya right now ta stop because I'll forget everything bout not throwing ya back ta da streets if ya forget it."

Before my mind was about to relapse from the exhaustion of sleepless nights, and a few hours sleep had knocked off inches of my tiredness yet now my sleep was pointless when the exhaustion just crept back to me again. His words were more tiresome than any hard labor and any sleepless night, their tediousness too little to be safe. It was how I lived my life, how he must too. Never upset the precious balance or be thrown into a tornado and every last word and every last duty and every last movement would be contradicting with each other. Every last second would have thoughts screaming at you until you went mad. Thoughts that were so tiring but not boring, any word that had truth, was dangerous. In this life we didn't have time for it, especially when being caught off guard could result in death.

I felt the familiar sensation of the warmth of another as he squeezed my shoulder comfortingly, so close I could smell the stale cigarettes and newspaper ink. The stench was soothing somehow and I found myself starved for it, inhaling deeply and letting it flow through my veins like nicotine. I felt him jerk but he didn't move and in surprise found we were so close now my cheek was pressed against his chest. If this was a fairytale the moment would be perfect for the utopian soul mates, but Jack and I were everything but that and this was no fairytale. This was the hardness of reality and I pulled back, embarrassed.

"I don't understand ya Lani, why ya act da way ya do," he broke the awkward silence. "Just try ta keep at least on the boundaries of staying in line, yer me newsie and things are getting rougher round dese parts and I have ta make sure ya stay out of trouble. Or so ya don't start trouble fer da rest of us. Now get ready," he instructed wearily, running a tired hand through his hair when he had taken my silence for confirmation. I didn't have the energy or the brain capacity to argue, and right now it was better to just let it go. I would never admit it aloud but I was beginning to see just why the pompous fool was leader as I watched him recede through the door.

"Way to go, Let," I mumbled, throwing my shirt over my undershirt, silently applauding for my stupidity at letting him know all this, or to continue to assume he was right.

"Who's Let?" Mush asked, eyeing me curiously as he rounded the corner, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and one leg pressed against the frame, coolly superior. Swearing under my breath I silently berated myself for forgetting to close the door behind my troubled leader.

"My imaginary friend," I teased and followed his raised eyebrow anxiously, just hoping his easy going temperament would work to my advantage.

"Dat's not healthy, Lani. Dey can be dangerous. Me imaginary friend Buffy stole me goil once," he answered seriously and I laughed, glad for the relief he was bringing to my burdened mind.

"Ya nevah had a goil ta steal," Racetrack provoked cheekily as he wandered by and as I searched for my boots I watched with mild interest as Mush shoved the scrawny Italian lightly into the wall. From Mush's glow he had enjoyed that. Maybe a little too much.

"Where's Patchy da Pirate?" I inquired casually as I forced my scuffed boots on.

"Bet ya a nickel ya won't say dat ta his face," Racetrack challenged mischievously and I flashed him a grin.

"Ya underestimate me," I grinned evilly and scanned the bunkroom for any signs of my free rent.

"Race, ya need ta get dat problem checked out," Mush moaned, but we knew he had no worry and was rather looking forward to it. He perked up though in a minute, way too brightly for this early, as he remembered something. "Hey Lani, can I get a goil's opinion on dis?"

"I dunno how much of a lady ya can consider me," I said warily, watching him nervously like he was asking me to jump off a bridge into a sea of spikes.

"Dere's dis goil, ya know, and she's amazing. I mean, I think dis could be da one. Beautiful, funny, sweet…"

"So who's da love of yer life dis week?" Racetrack interrupted wryly, chewing knowingly on the end of his stogie and I snorted but Mush didn't seem to hear either of us with the stars in his hopeful eyes.

"Marigold. Or was it Tulip. No dat ain't a name, it was something wid a flower…" he muttered darkly, his face scrunching in effort to remember and Racetrack looked at me with a 'told ya so' look. "Hope. Dat was her name."

"Hope's a flower?" Racetrack asked skeptically.

"No…but she could be one. Shut up, I need ta tawk ta Lani," he told him and turned to me. "But she lives in Coney and I dunno if her leader will want her dating a Manhattan boy. Wad should I do?"

"Well…" I began, unsure of how to react to giving sincere advice. I was so tempted to make a wisecrack about it or lead him askew like Racetrack's look was telling me to. Yet Mush is one of those rare few who have purity still in their hearts and it must be paining him to ask for advice and I couldn't bring myself to it. "Ya ain't a Brooklyn boy or a Bronx boy so I think her leader should be happy. Just pull da whole naïve thing, steal some flowers, and tell her leader dat you already know he'll moidah ya if ya hoit her so he knows yer trustworthy. Ya have to follow yer heart or you'll regret it later."

"Thanks, I think I'll try dat," he announced happily. Well at least it didn't take much to make somebody happy.

"Skittery's friend, Cliffer, poured water on da floor so Dutchy and Specs would fall," Kid Blink snickered, appearing by my doorway so now it was completely blocked.

"Are dey okay?" I asked worriedly, feeling a bit defensive for my brief acquaintance. "Cliffer's gonna get himself a soaking if they ain't, and I don't mean wid watah."

"Don't worry yer liddle self," Blink provoked slyly but continued once he suspected my boot would be shoved up his ass if he didn't. "They're both fine. Cliffer just had a grudge against him since he got heah. Probably cause dey stole his hat."

"Bronx is psychotic," Racetrack mumbled, shaking his head. "Don't know why Skitt's is friend's wid Cliff."

"Probably fer da broads. Dame's flock to Cliffer like dey go to Jack, don't know why," Mush answered and again seemed to remember something and sent me a stern look. "Don't be fooled by him, Lani. He's crazy but he knows how ta play da charms, I'll give him dat. Be careful round him."

"He don't have much honor, either. He won't think twice bout hitting a goil and he's less tolerant den even Spot," Kid Blink warned me and the cursed crimson was flaming my cheeks as I looked away, ashamed. No time had been spared for thoughts of last night but now the reflections only brought how childish we both had been, and I had gone against everything I promised to myself about not provoking the king who could claim my head on his wall, and had completely ignored the three boys precautions. I tried to only think of that but with Spot Conlon came dangerous territory only a girl who didn't respect herself or was a complete milksop wanted to trek. Like eating something that had upset my stomach something warm rose, soothing with the laughter in his eyes as he mocked me, and a wave of heat flashed across. Regretting remembering I tried to shake it off like water as I looked at my selling partners remorsefully, playing the part of wide doe eyes and properly ashamed look.

"At least ya ain't gonna push him anymore," Racetrack shrugged it off, as uncomfortable with receiving apologies as I was with giving them.

"Who said dat?" I instigated to add to their alarmed looks. Shooting a mock irritated glare at Blink I added, "Patchy da Pirate?"

"I thought I told ya'll you'se can only call me dat on Friday," he retorted lightly but I could see the flicker of aggravation.

"It is Friday," Mush reminded him and his hat swiftly left his curly head.

"Heah," Racetrack said calmly as the two boy's scampered away screaming bloody murder. I turned to him and he dropped something into my hand. A nickel.

"Thanks," I nodded appreciatively as we followed Mush and parrot lad towards the land of the unknown, hearing Jack's reverberating cry. It was strange being amidst a chaotic bunch of rowdy newsboys and feeling like walking through a desolate battlefield after the last gun shot was fired. Eerily quiet in my mind when every where else was madness. Yet as Race and I walked towards the door everything seemed to settle into just how it should be and for some reason still I do not know I was comfortable. Jack and Spot were standing erect and silent, pillars of strength amongst a worried current, and as Dutchy moved away Spot and I were connected through a long tunnel that separated the two of us in worlds.

His tumultuous gray eyes had gone cold, the flame of last night gone, watching silent and frozen with his own mesmerizing thoughts. He saw me. I was sure of it when just for a second something lit his face in a familiar glow. Apprehension struck the hour and waiting was the disease I was cursed with, rooted to the spot, unsure how to react but waiting with bated breath to see how he'd retaliate. Ever in control he knew what was happening as his gaze caught mine and we were trapped with each other, until he finally let us break away. It was enough to acknowledge each other. Any more provocation we couldn't take. Closure was the dose and it was enough to end the lingering thoughts and replace with a warning of the storm to come. It was enough. Racetrack nudged me and I felt those immaculate hairs on my neck rise as I tore away, well aware Jack was watching with a protective look, probably just hoping I wouldn't create any more trouble. It was enough and as I walked away only half listening to Racetrack's vents those piercing eyes became haunting. Haunting because something had sent his mind reeling back to the ghosts that he cradled. But as I left him behind all I could do was wonder why a glance was enough.

The sun shone with the warmth of the moon. Shadows of wrangled branches fell across the sharp cobblestone as I tilted my chin up to the clear sky hoping the fire in the sky would shed some warmth. It would never cease to amaze me how such a stereotypically beautiful day could have my bones rattling in the skeleton's final number. I needed the dirt that had accumulated to me for heat, my clothes providing nothing, only seemed to be tempting the October temperature.

"I wish I had a coat ta offah ya," Racetrack said sincerely with true concern as he watched another shiver overwhelm me.

"Ever the gentleman, Race," I teased, smiling thankfully at him and just trying to suppress my scrawny body from shaking. I really did not need their concern, especially since they were probably just as cold as I was, nor did I want it. I was used to looking after myself.

Life was lived in a dirty city where the smoke created a gray veil over the blue of the sky, where the prejudices of society had the innocent ostracized, where each day people with only a penny in their pocket struggled for survival while rich fat cats looked down their stubby noses. The city could never better itself until the citizens were willing, and nobody wanted to tip the precious balance, not even the poor. The scale of life was not meant to have the poor in the air and the extravagant on the ground. It was not worth loosing everything for a silly dream. But right now serenity touched our troubled hearts with a chilly summer breeze, lifting our spirits like it did the leaves. Our feet resting we sat in the only patch of green docility amongst rambunctious sailors, swearing and sweating as they loaded crates to the ships upon the harbor. To us, though they may be just yards away, it was a different time as we imagined the seaside of where we had seen pictures of. The waves crashing to the cliffs with the wind blowing hair everywhere, with the breeze having each blade of grass dancing.

"It feels like we'se someweah else," I started softly, breaking a blade of grass and feeling the sticky ooze of reality. Their intensity vibrated and after some time I continued, "Away from dis city. Somewhere clean weah we ain't breathing in smoke and running from da bulls. I'm gonna make it dere someday. I don't know weah I'se going but I'm gonna get outta heah. Gonna feel the wind and the sea spray and listen to laughter instead of knife fights. Wad about you'se fellahs? Wad are ya gonna do?"

"Yer a dreamer, Lani," Kid Blink sighed, his light hair swirling a pattern of disbelief in the world where dreams could not coexist with reality. "Didn't know it till now. Most of is nevah gonna see such a place. Most of us won't even live long enough to try."

"I wish Mush was heah," I pouted, needing to hear my dreams take shape with his optimism, needing to hear he had dreams just as silly. He was making his dreams into something more though, and I regretted giving him that advice this morning now. He was off to Coney, had been after half our papers were sold, and off to sweep his dream off her feet.

"He's right though," Racetrack agreed grimly. "Most of us ain't gonna live till den, probably not to twenty five. Not wid freezing, starving, disease, and fights."

"We could if we'se was rich."

"Dat ain't nevah gonna happen, Lani," Kid Blink declined morbidly and I felt the familiar flicker of anger compress against the walls of my mind, trapped as a caged animal, and I would not accidentally set it free again. I had made too many enemies, had caused too many problems already.

"Why not?" I demanded and I could not ignore the exasperated look Racetrack and Kid Blink exchanged. "Why can't da poor ever be rich? It's America, ain't it? If we woik hard enough we can overthrow Pulitzer, even Roosevelt."

"We'd get killed," Racetrack pointed out logically. "Nobody wants a reformed street rat as mayor."

"Some dreams are worth dying for," I stated firmly and Racetrack's patience was only what tied Kid Blink back from shouting at me for the nonsense I spoke. I was just sick of it. Trapped here forever, knowing these newsboys and Micah and even Jack would probably end up dead for daring to be poor. The rich hadn't done anything for society but deprave it from their selfish needs.

"Lani, sit down," Kid Blink snapped and I looked down in surprise to find my legs outstretched upon the tilted upright world. I hadn't even realized I had been standing.

"I don't mind da city dat much," Racetrack intervened between the glare Blink and I shared, connected nearly physically enough to roll a marble along. "Lotsa card houses, different people, and da sheepshead is heah and da women are beautiful. Especially da Italians. Now I know I probably won't evah make it rich but I don't mind, I don't wanna be like dem. Dey look dere noses down at me cause I'se poor. But I don't look my nose down at dem cause dey is rich cause they have it rough too."

"Yeah, burden me, I don't mind," Kid Blink spat sourly.

"They do, Blink. Why would ya wanna live yer life just for materials, marry for money, live and breathe it, nobody gives a damn bout each oddah."

"Dey don't when yer poor either," I pointed out and he nodded, one of the very few people who actually listened and judged someone else's opinion before their own.

"True, most don't. Da newsies do though, and some gangs gotta and families gotta. Dey don't when yer rich. How would it be to never know wad its like to earn yer own way? They're empty people, trust me, I knew too many of dem. Shells. Ain't alive but dey ain't dead either, stuck in da worse place, in between. When yer poor ya have a chance ta appreciate things, ta feel alive in fights even."

Silence. The weight of it grounding us to Manhattan as each syllable was weighed under inspection, looking for error in his words but finding only the purest diamond. He was right. It was almost ironic looking at the short Italian chewing on that cigar of his, but his deep eyes had the soul of a boy who saw too much and grew too quickly, who knew more than wise men.

"I think…" Blink began cautiously as he stepped around the shattered glass Racetracks words had littered around the foundations we based every thought of society upon. My head felt heavy with contradictions and thoughts, an intermediacy of radical ideas even my own radically different mind couldn't grasp. Pity the rich who did not know the aches of starvation and the hollowness of watching a knife plunged through a friend because of a bar fight. Impossible. Racetrack was insane. Kid Blink seemed to agree, avoiding the topic, it being safer to return to my first question. "I'd go anywhere dat would have me but when it really came down to it, I wouldn't be able to leave. Every memory is heah, in dis city."

"Which is a good reason ta get da hell outta heah."

"Don't tawk like dat, Lani," Racetrack scolded absent-mindedly and I couldn't be sure if he was referring to my cussing or my damper on Blink's words.

"Dere's bad memories but dey completes us, ya know? We aren't story book characters, there's some good and bad inside us all, and its wad keeps us real. Everything's a part of us. Do you'se think we'd be who we are without bad things happening to us? I know I wouldn't. But dis city is weah I've taken me foist steps, had me foist friend, sold me foist pape, gotten me face pushed into da doit, had me foist kiss, gotten drunk da foist time…"

"I'se guessing da drunk and da kiss happened da same night?" Racetrack provoked lightly as Blink's face split into a delighted smile, his eyes far away remembering what we knew not.

"Emily. Da summah I was thirteen," he sighed.

"Careful. You'll be as bad as Mush soon," I warned him and his face looked mockingly offended.

"Dat's wad I'se gonna call ya," Racetrack announced to us all and my head whipped around, hair flying in a dramatization for our Shakespearean play. Warily I eyed him, for once not knowing what to say as I opened my mouth and closed it again. Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. And still no sound could penetrate the walls separating Blink and I from the mischievous glint in his eye.

"Emily?" Blink asked in confusion and I reeled back, equally as confused.

"No, not Emily ya twit," Racetrack condescended before he forgot all about Blink's 'stupidity' and turned to me, in a joke I wasn't in on. "Ya think I was paying any attention ta yer ramblings? I was thinking of Italy. And den I thought of it. Yer a newsie and a newsie needs a nickname, ya ain't living wid Lani on da streets."

"Get to it, Higgins," Blink cried in impatience and I had to join with him on that, my insides writhing. A nickname could determine initial respect, saving bruised knuckles or creating them.

"Venice," he proclaimed happily and Blink and I exchanged confused looks. "It's a city in Italy. Me ma used ta tawk about going there all da time."

"So wad does dat have ta do wid her?"

"Because…" he sighed, as if everybody should be following his train of thought. "Da city is different from most places. It ain't normal. But in a good way. Just like you'se, Lani. It's beautiful, I saw it in sketches. People get around in canoe things, gonds…gondolas, dats wad dey is called. It's artistic, but creates trouble since it's right on da watah. You create trouble too. It's perfect fer ya."

"Thanks, I think," I said blankly, turning my mind over to imagine Lani a disguise I would shed, stained skin from a snake, falling to the carcass of some new animal I did not know. Was it possible to convert everything I was in Lani to a new, different name? It was what I had been doing all my life though, pretending to be someone else. Yet now my name would hold meaning, a meaning to be confused and twisted by others and some watching me in disbelief if the name did not fit perfectly. How could it if living up to 'being abnormal in a good way' would now always be in the back of my mind, careful to not lead into acting in a bad way. I was forgetting a name didn't change who you were; it was something I had read once long ago. When I still cared enough to hear it. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Shakespeare. Crazy old fool. Venice I would carry for the rest of…a fortnight. I was forgetting my dare, forgetting all my resolutions about never getting attached to anybody. Now I had earned a newsie nickname and then I would abandon the newsies and leave. Everybody leaves or forgets to stay.

"A newsie name," I started tentatively, careful to not offend Racetrack when his name was appreciated. "Is supposed to be something like Cowboy or yers, Racetrack. Something dat ain't trying to touch on who you are and something dat people could understand. Venice can be taken da wrong way out heah on da streets."

"Venice," Racetrack replied with a sly grin. "I think Mush, Snoddy, and Pie Eater are all names dat can be taken da wrong way on da streets. You'se a newsie goil, why should ya care wad oddas think?"

"A street name is supposed to scare potential killers away," I said desperately, the name not rolling over my tongue smoothly and now was my last try.

"Sorry, I missed when Mush, Racetrack, and Kid Blink evah sounded tough. It ain't da name dats tough, its da newsie behind da name. And I ain't looking fer a black eye so I ain't gonna say yer a goil so it don't mattah," Racetrack warned, eyeing my fist warily and I flexed it for pure amusement as his expression darkened. Venice.

"I can't change yer mind, can I?" I resigned wearily and Racetrack's wolfish grin lit a match to Kid Blink's own, a rarity that their stubbornness would conquer mine. Venice. Imagination could do whatever it wished and Spot Conlon would be having his fun with it, but I had my retaliations cocked like pistols. Admitting it would mean defeat but with the way I had been acting my alias could be notches worse. Venice.

"Welcome to da ranks," Kid Blink congratulated, patting me on the back as I digested everything with a pounding heart. A nickname officially inaugurated a newbie into the make believe real society of street rats and newsies, how other boroughs recognized one of their own minorities. It wasn't vital to survival like the newspapers they ate but it was vital to surviving here, now. I had been admitted into their world and now that I was here I would be beaming if my heart weren't pounding achingly hard, in sync with my mind for once. I was no newsie. In a fortnight I would be gone and my betrayal would burn their faces magenta. I was no newsie. I was an enemy of the newsies. I was one of the few they wanted dead. I was no newsie.

"Wads wrong? You cold?" Racetrack asked softly sad as he watched me tremble. I felt the chill spreading throughout guilt rotten bones, Jack's lecture hitting me hard now as the color drained from my skin. Why is it that these things creep up on you when you least expect it? Lowering my head I tried to gather some control of what was happening but once again the reigns of control had been torn from my hands and I was left drowning and screaming but everybody heard only a whisper.

"Listen, I need ta tell ya something," I said quietly, my voice shaking just as bad as I was. Not even trying to hide the pain etched on my expression. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Their curiosity was engulfed by their sincere concern as I fought an internal battle they all saw. I could feel the words rising, those stupid words that would ruin everything I had been working so hard for, possibly even ruin my life. As I opened my mouth again I was powerless to muteness. I couldn't control my mouth but I could control one thing. Escape. My sister had once said what a lady knew how to do best was faint.

A/N- well, don't know how that was. how bout ya'll review and tell me. you don't know how much i'd appreciate it. it's why i'm putting these stories up, to gain feedback and i would love to know how i could improve

Shoutouts

Reffy- heya dude! thanks for reviewing the last chapter, your reviews are appreciated more than you know...or you might, dunno. i love writing with spot though, he's so dangerous and amusing even though you want to throw a brick at him half the time. there will be a lot more of him in the next chapter. and more camelot. hope i did a good job with jack in this chapter and kept everybody else in character. oh,and some person will make a reappearance in the next chapter so things are gonna get interesting...i hope. haha. well, all in all i hope i didn't butcher this chapter too bad. i was in arush toput it up. love to hear your feedback and any critiques you might have. hope i did agood job and you liked this chapter, even though it was mostlyjust talking

Just Da Girl- huzza! new reviewer! i'm super happy to know that you like my story so far, hope i did a good job with this chapter and you enjoyed it. hope to hear your feedback on it. thanks for reviewing, its why i'm posting it up here is to hear what others think. thank you again.


	8. Chapter 8: Feeling everything Hidden

A/N- oops, sorry i haven't updated in a while or it feels like forever to me. life andschool's been hectic as anything. ah, the woes of a high school freshman. lol. but anyway, thank you for stopping by on your browsing of these stories and taking time out of your life to read this. hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer- again, not like anybody reads these. why do we bother with them? but to make this site happy the newsies belong to the creative works of disney and i own any character that is a stranger to the movie.

Fallen heroes hit the earth one by one as truth degrades into suicide. The breath of the innocent pales the face of the guiltily troubled, guilty and troubled and troubled for feeling guilty, and there's no where left to run when the saddest song has already been sung. We try to find our way after the light has been stolen by father time when we know we're crawling through a prison where the friends of the friendless are the masks we've painted so one size fits all. Here is where we've staked our flag and shed our blood. Here is where we fall to our knees screaming when everybody hears just a whisper. Here is where I'm making ultimate mistakes for no reason other than pride that is just as abstract and unpredictable as the flip of a coin. Here is where I now lie in this cluttered room of just me and the prescence I know is Jack.

"Yer having quite the hard time adjusting to our way of life, aren't ya?" he proposed to the inquiry I hadn't made. Cracks in eyelashes told me the sunset was pressing against the windowpane looking for somewhere warm in the night, but they had told me when it was late afternoon as well. Drunk in my thoughts I had been lying here possibly for hours, immobilized and listening to the rush of voices pass me by like a rock disturbing nature. Jack- the golden boy had been around. Too much. Or at least since he had heard Racetrack's account of our adventure today, and I knew from the moment he had tolerated breathing the same air I did he had been waiting till I woke up. Or at least, told the world he did. I was not a fool and neither was he- he knew I had been awake this entire time.

"You have no idea," I responded and felt the bed sag under his weight. His sigh did not sound aggravated or irate like I had predicted, but tired. He had dealt enough with me. I did not dare to think he didn't know my tricks because he saw more than any of these bums and patiently I waited for the placidness of the graying sky to disparate for the hurricane, for his face to turn blue from yelling himself hoarse. I deserved it and I knew it well. From his talk earlier I had nearly cost Racetrack and Kid Blink a day's selling when they almost refused to get back to selling their papers, and caused them needless worry when distractions could condemn them to death. The silence was bordering unbearable and the deadliness of it had me look hesitantly at Jack. The sun reflected in perfection when it illuminated him in gold and he appeared the epitome of a monumental statue of a great hero as he sat on my bed, staring out the window tangoing with hidden thoughts. Finally the silence was too uncomfortable and I tentatively said, "Jack?"

"Hmmm," he hummed back like I interrupted him on any regular circumstance, like any of us had. Mentally preparing that he was just building his berating I crawled to the end of the mattress and plopped beside him on my knees, waiting. He didn't even acknowledge me and then I began to panic- Jack not yelling at me was too much of a rarity. Placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder I shook gently, hoping to revive him of the deadly plague of calmness.

"I ain't gonna yell at ya," he answered to the unspoken question but didn't shake my arm off, and for some reason it was comforting to leave it there. "I don't know what's wrong wid me right now, but I can't yell at ya fer this no matter how stupid ya act. Fainting like dat. Ya could've gotten hoit," he continued and looked at me with a brotherly concern that made me uncomfortable. Nobody should get concerned over me and I shouldn't get concerned over anybody, that was how people got hurt.

"I know better den you do ya gotta let it go before ya get yerself killed," he said as he rose and when sharply I looked up at him he did not look back. He left me here with a larger hole than before, wondering just how much I could keep hidden when he left me alone for the first time in hours. Sighing, I stared at my hands trying to make some sense out of today and trying to keep Jack's farewell words away.

"Ya can't when it's a part of ya," I whispered. The tears that would never leave me gathered, trying to hide from anything that screamed my name.

"My, my, ya just keep getting more interesting," a voice purred that made my heart stop. For the seconds of breathlessness I took short rapid breaths and steadied the nausea I was feeling, trying to pick up the broken pieces of myself. I was a mess and the last thing I wanted to do right now was fight with the bastard.

"Can't ya stay on da oddah side of da bridge?" I hissed, looking up and blinded by tears. Furiously I blinked them away and found him standing there reserved against the frame of the door, leaning against it with his arms crossed and his sleeves rolled to their elbows revealing his biceps. He was good looking, I couldn't deny that, but for some reason now I felt sick looking at him. Swearing beneath my breath I knew now he had heard me talk to myself, had seen my tears, and now with clear vision saw the pity he watched me with. My stomach turned over in disgust and he smirked at my revolved look, knowing exactly what he was doing. I didn't want his pity.

"Yer forgetting, Venice," he said dangerously, enunciating the nickname pointedly as he stepped forward menacingly. His eyes glinted as he said through clenched teeth, "Dis is me sister's room."

"Wrong. It's my room too now," I retorted smoothly, rising swiftly and crossing my arms in defiance.

"No._ Yer_ wrong. Dis will never be yer room just like heah will never be yer home. And you'll never be a newsie," he said softly but the softness was the mask for the doubts he drilled into my confused mind. My heart plummeted. How much could he possibly know so soon? He tauntingly held the truth in his hands obliviously, his malicious glitter telling me his words were to sting without many pinches of truth.

"Hate to break yer heart honey but I already am," I said proudly and he raised his eyebrows disbelievingly, tauntingly. If there was one thing that had me see red it was when people didn't listen.

"Really?" he queried with a devilish look. "Cause I don't think a newsie would risk their partners not selling, not eating. I don't think a newsgoil would be stupid enough to faint in front of da harbor men."

"We all make mistakes, Spot," I said quietly ashamed, steadily looking at him so he felt the meaning. I needed him to feel my emotion like he had me feel every scarring word. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so helpless when facing down everything I had been warned to stay away from. Staring back the fading sun changed his expression into understanding, before just as quickly it changed back into the fury I had kindled, the danger that was him. A fiercely protective blade shot through me and instantaneously I felt a thousand words for that one look. A new revelation- Spot Conlon had known some of these boys since early childhood. They were his friends, his allies, besides his sister the only family he had and with a simply stupid action I jeopardized their safety. Their safety was never a guarantee but when the harbor men wanted something they got it- if they had seen me 'faint' we would stand no chance. I was becoming a threat to him not only in authority but to his family. To the lives nothing could repair and no price could be paid for. As melodramatic as it was there was no exaggeration in the fiery pits of his deranged anger. Shame and anger at myself clouded everything as I looked away from him; now more of a burden than I realized. Nothing I seemed to do was right. But it was the only escape I could think of.

Unconsciously he had shown me another side of him, another besides the dangerous egotist, a side of raw protectiveness for the only family he knew. Somehow it humanized him in my eyes and he became more than just the dog I saw him as. So the Brooklyn leader and I had something in common after all. Revealing to the world what we wanted them to see and showing nothing else, rejecting everybody and the world for our preferred fantasies where we are all we long to be.

"Starting ta feel bad now?" he demanded sharply, guessing everything running through my mind too closely but I wasn't sure if he was talking about fainting like I had or finding one commonality between us. The footsteps he left to his opened mind he had to cover and years of manipulation had trained him to maneuver any conversation to exactly what he wanted. He could measure me up and read me with one quick glance, no matter how little he knew of me and how little I revealed, and I felt a painful stab of hatred for him right then. For hurting others for his pride. "Now I don't give a damn wad happens to ya but it won't look good for Jack if ya get killed. I'm surprise ya weren't raped at da least, if Race and Blink didn't do it da harbor men would. And I wouldn't be surprise if they didn't lift a finger."

"Not everybody brags of their indecency," I snarled, struggling for an opening to escape from this prison, a pawn trapped by strategy by the king. That was the only genius in him to be able to manipulate a person so well- finding small grains of truth; he fed off self doubts and fear like a leech. But the bitter truth was I couldn't be sure if the newsboys would do a thing if I were attacked, and that blame could rest no where but my own slumped shoulders. I was too used to it though, handling my own with nobody caring if I lived or died, for it to have the desired effect and his glare darkened when he saw the current had only slightly shifted. I had foiled his plan and he did not like it when he was wrong.

"Dat's because dey have nothing ta brag about. I'se just da truth," he growled, backing me into a corner. I closed my eyes tight when the wall collided with my back, leaving me with no where left to run. Stalking like the majestic beauty and ferocity of a tiger he drew close to me, unreadable and emotionless but sparks shooting off him.

"No, ya ain't nothing but blind folly, Conlon," I retaliated, my voice quiet but with a steel that had his eyes flare and though I felt my knees buckling I would not succumb to fear. "People don't follow ya because dey respect ya or like ya, but they're scared of ya. And you, you don't even know wad yer doing. Ya shed blood. Nothing but blood. Yer just as worthless as I am."

"Don't. You. Dare," he breathed, voice shaking and enunciating every word through his panting, resurfacing a nerve I had reached. I leaned close to the wall from the venom in his voice but he drew closer until we were inches apart. "Don't ya ever, ever, compare yerself to me. If I ever hear ya saying we'se alike and ya lower me ta your place I swear yer life will become a _living hell_."

I moved my neck to avoid his repugnant breath, and the spitting of his deranged look, choking back no words. His hands slammed on either side of my head, trapping me and blocking any hopes of escape. I looked back at him desperately, knees shaking and a lonely bead of perspiration rolled down the side of my face. The daggers in those eyes had the emitting hatred stab me like a knife. His body pressed against mine, sinking me into the wall and I wished so bad I could live behind that wall.

"Spot…" I struggled, forgetting my pride but I would not beg. His smirk was dancing in his eyes since he knew he had dominance and complete control, he knew precisely what he was doing. His frame was pressing against my chest, and I had to struggle just to breathe. I saw his lips before I felt them. Fearful I jerked my head to the side to have those lips bruise my cheek. It was a punishment, not a pleasure and it was meant to be so. It was meant to have me back down to his feet wiping the mud off his boots where I belonged. It was meant to raise the bile of emotions always there and I fought to keep my eyes open but they fluttered when his lips made contact. A chill spread through my body fighting the raging heat, tears developing in desperation for a vulnerability I loathed and only could I regain my senses as his lips traveled towards mine. My knee shot out but he leapt back without surprise, always one step ahead.

"Who do you think you are?" he spat out, drawing closer to me again. Looking at him sadly I tried to find the words I could not feel until he took a step back, watching my hopeless look.

"I'm just me," I lamented. I couldn't look at his face before I stepped around him and did not look back. I felt his gaze of thorns when he looked at me with eyes full of questions. I couldn't turn back though; all I could do was put one foot in front of the other and silently ask myself over and over again 'what's wrong with you?'. Leaving my emotions spilled at his feet I shut the door behind me and sighed deeply, banging my head against the door and staring towards the sky in hopes for an answer. I could not handle the emotions surging inside me and contradicting themselves, throwing me so off balance I could fall. But I was scared, more than scared I was shaking…trembling. For every word he had said and for having control by a force I couldn't match. But what I didn't want to admit was that though that had intimidated me I had been in that situation plenty of times in my life. I was scared for the control he had by a force I couldn't fight- the emotions he roused, for the gooseflesh he created, for the vulnerability I had felt. He did that to every girl that crossed his path from sheer magnetism; that was why he had such a reputation with the ladies. He made us feel when we weren't supposed to feel anything at all. He allowed us to have a freedom with emotions we buried. He made us feel everything we tried so hard to hide- the anger, sadness, and joy we're always overwhelmed by. For a price. For our heart. That was his appeal. And with that appeal he could do and say anything he pleased, knowing very well just how badly it would hurt.

His words were meant to scar. His trap was meant to haunt and scare and shake. His kiss was meant to break.

Whispers flooded ears that didn't want to hear anything but the beating of my heart and helplessly I looked around me, fearfully, waiting for the next attack only to find a thousand eyes. Shocked I gasped and threw myself back against the door, tensed to pounce if I was threatened and only seeing the animal kingdom. Boisterous, rambunctious, and ill tempered but there was no animal kingdom in these four walls no matter how closely the newsies resembled savages, and only newsboys stared at me curiously and worriedly. I stared back at those who had caught my pathetic sight and I realized now I was sweating and the tears I had promised myself would never fall were coming dangerously close to spilling. Still shaking I looked a distraught mess and unwillingly became self-conscious; on other circumstances I would have flaunted my messiness but now it was extreme for a boy had done this to me. Gathering every emotion my face became emotionless as I pushed away from the door and stalked towards the staircase, feeling their eyes follow me.

Spot Conlon could break me like a twig and still sleep soundly. It was as if everything that had happened today was just leading into proving Jack's words true. Spot made me feel things I didn't want to ever feel and if I ever succumbed to those feelings I would be left broken and cold to the bone. His interest in me, the only reason he kept reappearing, was to set me in my place because I dared to fight him and the only way I would be safe from reaching a breaking point that would push me over the edge and into insanity was to stay far, far away from him. Now that seemed impossible when he was everywhere. Yet I had to because I would not break, I would not let myself. Whatever it took…

"Lani!" a familiar voice tumbled up the stairs and I closed my eyes, hoping that if I couldn't see them they couldn't see me. I wanted to scream for them to leave my alone because now I couldn't cope with anything but my own breathing, anything else and my mind would explode.

"Jack told us ya just woke up. We had to go sell earlier…" Blink's voice was suppressed with silence as he caught sight of me, Racetrack and him just making it up the stairs.

"Wad in da hell happened to ya?" Racetrack demanded furiously, arms crossed as he glared down at me and I grinned cheekily back but my smile was feeble. I had to and could stop my feelings if I pretended they didn't exist, if I willed them all away.

"I fainted, remember?" I asked dryly, convincingly, but they spent their lives sifting lies and half-truths from the truth and saw straight through me. While their penetrating glares didn't have quite the fearful effect Spot's or Jack's did they were trained enough to have their own desired effect, like angry father's or older brother's knowing it was just a matter of time before their misbehaving girl admitted her fault. I diverted my eyes because if I did not see them I would not crack, until Racetrack forced my jaw back towards them.

"I fainted!" I cried, hoping their exhaustion would cover the gaps in the truth my fib left but when they exchanged looks I knew neither of them bought it for one second but were willing to let it go for now. weren't willing to let it go. I stomped my foot in frustration, tempted to push one of them down the stairs.

"Really, I'm fine," I supported through clenched teeth, attempting to freeze myself into stopping trembling and I smirked, cocking my head to the side daring them to protest now. I couldn't decide if they'd be more worried about the aftermath of 'fainting' or an encounter like I had with Spot Conlon. I didn't want to test them anymore though, at least not tonight. I could do nothing about the tears that were agonizingly slowly evaporating or the perspiration or the slight tremble, but I could convince my mind how little Spot mattered and all that he had done, could will myself to believe. My heart was trivial, could be buried deep like every emotion he evoked I kept locked away. I was doing just the opposite of all that Jack had warned me of but for now the only thing that mattered was to end this interrogation.

"Whatever ya say, doll," Racetrack mumbled still in a disbelief that I could do nothing to repair. Kid Blink opened his mouth to continue this but Racetrack nudged him and sent him a warning look I hoped they didn't mean for me not to see since they weren't exactly the slyest. "I think ya fainted cause you'se was cold…well, Blink helped suggest it but I thought of it foist."

"So we passed lover boy and Hope the flower and aftah we told dem wad happened she took us back to Coney since she had a spare shirt. It ain't a coat and it's a bit worn, but it's heavy and if ya throw it ovah wad ya have on now it has ta help at least some," Blink continued and held out the mysterious bundle he had been holding under his arm. I took it from him gratefully, studying the worn and faded purple material but my fingers caressed the thickness of it adoringly, because when the deeper winter came knocking upon New York's door it could help shield me from some of its hateful wrath. It was a rare luxury afforded on the streets, a novelty to be appreciated.

It had covered someone else's back though and had helped them survive through the winter, and through this winter it could aid those closer to them if it was not required. I had done nothing to earn this but pretend to faint because I could only keep running and lying to the people who accepted me into their domain. Reluctantly I held it back to Blink, saying proudly, "I don't take charity."

"It ain't charity," Blink argued, holding his arms away from the shirt I attempted to shove at him until I finally just tossed it in his face. "That was rude."

I snorted loudly and spun on my heel before I felt the shirt tossed upon my head, blinding me.

"I told ya I don't take charity!" I yelled, throwing it back at him, our previous argument forgotten in place for something more interesting.

"We didn't even ask her. She just got it on her own," Blink pointed out, completely missing my point before throwing it back at me and I clutched it, my knuckles turning white.

"So? It's still charity. I didn't do nothing to earn it, I don't even know this goil," I argued persuasively and was ready to fling it severely into Kid Blink's face but I felt a gently firm grip on my wrists and looked for the annoyance as pesky as a mosquito refraining me from ridding my hands of this hand out. Racetrack gave me a stern look, warning me away from fighting him, as he was able to control me without inflicting a pain he knew I wouldn't take.

"Venice. Lani. Listen. It's not charity and it ain't outta pity she's giving it to ya, so forget it and forget yer pride for a minute. Charity is wad da rich gives ta da poor. Hope's a Coney newsgoil, as far away from rich as we are. It ain't charity between newsies. We gotta look out fer each oddah, ya heah? It's us against da woild and if we can survive street fights and starvation we ain't letting da winter get da best of us," Racetrack said severely and I stared longingly at the shirt drooping from my hands when he released me.

"Fine. But I ain't gonna like it," I said stubbornly and he chuckled before gesturing back towards the open door of the bunkroom, Kid Blink stepping around us and screaming empty threats to one of the younger boy's on his bunk. I moved to follow him but Racetrack caught my arm and I looked at him questioningly.

"If ya ever need ta tawk to somebody…" he trailed off in a whisper that was meant for my ears alone, his worry harder to dissuade than the others. Unsure whether to be annoyed or comforted by his concern I gave him a reassuring smile.

"I'll know weah ta find ya," I promised and he nodded, relieved for a promise I wasn't sure I could keep. "And I'm sorry about earlier. I kept waking up and once I heard Jack say I almost cost you and Blink a days selling."

"Don't worry bout it," Racetrack dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Like I said, we'se newsies and we gotta watch out fer each oddah."

I grinned and nodded, Racetrack oblivious to the reasons of an apology I had to make. Nonetheless I had no other choice but to hold my tongue and follow him into the bunkroom, hoping that Spot Conlon was mourning in shame inside my room or had already left through the window. Racetrack paused and looked over his shoulder at me in concern and I closed my eyes, begging for a calm that would never fully engulf me. Even just the mere thought of him cast these shadows that coldly splattered for all to see. So I took their smiles and made them mine.

"Who's dat tawkin ta Jack?" that boy with the crutch asked curiously and my enthusiasm for their snoopiness wasn't what it usually was. Right now nothing mattered but keeping the reigns on my emotions. Though that wasn't enough to evade my curiosity and from the corner of my eye I saw my leader in a shaded corner of the room talking in a hushed voice to somebody I couldn't quite make out, Spot right beside them. I took a sharp breath, not ready to face him again, but fate's game of cards always tried to catch me in a spider's web of trouble. His back was turned towards us and Jack seemed too enveloped in his conversation to notice us watching. Big ears…Crutchy I think they called him…nudged Racetrack and he rolled his eyes, remaining firmly standing and a spectator.

"Jack's gonna soak us good if he catches us spying on him," Crutchy warned though that did not impress Racetrack. "You too, Venice, just cause yer a goil and he has honor don't mean…"

"Well he should move his conversation somewhere else," I said stubbornly and Racetrack snickered. Crutchy still appeared wary though, too pure hearted to eavesdrop on someone who was a hero in his eyes. "Crutchy, he has to expect us to spy on him if he's standing right in the bunkroom. He should know bettah den dat; I'm very disappointed in him."

The newsies of Manhattan fell short to my raised expectations for their curiosity, finding more interest in their games and tricks. Their eyes cast glances to the secrets of that corner but they were short lived, in a matter of seconds their rodent intention spans finding something new to gaggle at. Perhaps I was being too hard on them, on their abilities to eavesdrop, most probably aware their leader was not in the best of moods and Spot Conlon never was, all scared of Brooklyn. It seemed only Racetrack and I gave a shit until I saw Camelot and Boots crouching behind one of the bunks, cards in their hands but their eyes trained on the leaders and this newcomer. They felt me staring and Camelot caught my eye, her drained look warning me all they heard was not good.

"I have a feeling I'se being watched," Jack announced angrily, his voice traveling with expertise to only reach as far as Racetrack and I and as wide as Boots and Camelot. Pinpointed stirring trouble the four of us exchanged one quick look before smiling sheepishly; adorable innocence only usually works over parents but it was worth a shot. He turned his head to hide his smile, though in its sadness we turned to each other, confused. Jack was certainly the mystery maker.

Spot finally whirled around with a painful promise and his eyes swiveled to mine just as quickly as I sought him out. I could not meet his eyes; I'd rather be the coward then fall into their turbulence and forget everything that had just occurred. The energy from our minds connected and I knew he was thinking of everything I was- a quarter of an hour ago he had hurt me with his words of steel, that nobody would care if I were attacked, but I had sliced just as severely with mine and bruised his reputation. He had attacked me with the enchantment he wove, the threats of breaking and the gooseflesh of his punishing kiss but I had retaliated with the truth. When I finally looked up at him he was scared, scared of little ole' me. I couldn't put my finger on the why of it but I had left him with questions and my own self-damnation I knew was reflected in his soul…if he had one.

"Venice," Racetrack's voice tickled my ear as he caught my elbow and I did not understand. "You're shaking."

"I just haven't eaten much today," I whispered back truthfully although he knew that wasn't the straight story. The straight story I couldn't figure out. My knees were buckling because I couldn't do anything but stare at Spot Conlon and the emotions from minutes ago were resurfaced; I still felt him pressed against me, completely and utterly at his mercy. I detested vulnerability and that was all I felt. Yet I'd have to work harder at hiding my feelings.

Spot was suspicious now, though Jack was too involved in scanning the room for anybody still else listening besides his 'favorite newsies'. I smiled a thanks to Racetrack before drawing away. The stranger was watching us intensely so I switched it and he was bombarded with stares, his profile only showing like the act of a coward until he slowly turned and we were faced with a stranger that wasn't so strange. My heart leaped in surprise before breaking into the goofiest of grins, but with one swift warning look I knew better. We couldn't know each other. Any lie could be traced back so it was safest. For now the stranger was just that and no more.

"Wad was dat all about, Cowboy?" Racetrack questioned calmly and Jack could only run a tired hand through the grease in his hair, giving his friend a helplessly desperate look. He was struggling to say anything at all when to him the leader breathed within the confinements of his own barricaded mind, confiding in anybody a forbidden sin that meant weakness. It meant he couldn't handle his leadership. I was beginning to find his position was what Jack lived for and I was beginning to feel pity for him. His reasons were absolute nonsense of course, but when he believed he had nobody left to save him from his mind he was chained to a dungeon I was all too familiar with.

"Nothing, Race. It was about nothing," Jack sighed before catching sight of me and his gaze darkened severely, warning me out of understanding him. I smirked innocently with my own narrowed eyes, issuing a challenge without a sword and he answered with a warning look I knew too well. What is more powerful- the sword, the pen, or a silent challenge?

"Who's da angel, Kelly?" Micah inquired with a smarmy little grin after seeing this exchange. If he believed that just because we were pretending not to know each other I wouldn't give him a hard time then he was sadly mistaken.

"Why don't ya go find her," I snapped and was delighted in his surprise. "Not that she'd stay for da likes of you."

"Venice…" Jack warned but Micah just laughed.

"Touché," he smiled, his eyes glittering in a way I had missed. "No wonder yer keeping dis one."

"She ain't so entertaining when she's challenging ya every chance she gets," Jack huffed, his feathers ruffled when Micah had taken my side over his. "She's a new one. Name as of today is Venice. Venice dis is a friend of ours, runs a local gang, so ya mind him, heah?"

"A name would be too much to ask, your right," I rolled my eyes, disregarding his last comment. That was one promise I wouldn't even attempt to make, especially since even now my blatant disregard for him was irking him and that gave me immense enjoyment. There was so far I knew I could push Jack and still remain safe and it was easier than confronting anything, especially Spot and all he evoked.

"Its Micah," he introduced, spitting in his hand and I did likewise, stepping forward to shake and stepping away from Jack. Smirking mischievously I drew closer to Micah, close enough our words could safely be said, but for a reason I didn't know our seemingly intimate 'introduction' would simultaneously aggravate Jack. It was like killing two birds with one stone.

"Hello stranger," I whispered. Sending him a sculpted look of questions I looked up into the face that was fading from familiarity. A nostalgic twinge settled in my stomach like hunger, surprising me. Micah had been here for as long as I had needed him, never asking for help and he had never given me any but more with a crude friendship I never acknowledged. I had needed him lately, just needed to know he was living the life and that the world's heart was still beating as mine fell apart. Now that he was here I realized like a cold slap in the face how badly I needed him here now, just because he has always been there. It was one of the few things I could rely on anymore, because Micah would never leave. His place was in this city. And after two days of change it was nice to know.

"Thought I'd check up on our wager," he replied in an act of ventriloquism, hardly moving his lips but I heard him easily. "And making sure da newsies haven't jumped off a bridge yet."

"Stop it," Jack ordered and I felt gravity's wrath work its magic as I staggered backwards, dropping the over shirt, and if it weren't for Jack sharply dragging me to my feet I would be sprawled in a humiliating position now. Maybe I would've been grateful if it weren't for him being the one to yank me backwards in the first place.

"Wad's da big idea?" I demanded, glaring up at him and he still clenched my arm and scowled at me as if I was completely at fault here.

"Don't manhandle him," he said shortly and I looked at him incredulously before looking back at Micah, ordering him with a glare to help me here. Jack didn't seem to be in the mood to be convinced though and I fought the blush for him thinking such a thing of me, no matter how bad it looked.

"Jack, relax, she wasn't flirting wid me. She's probably seen me around and wanted to get a closer look, dat or I'se just real good looking," he grinned cockily and I gagged. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he studied Jack. "Ya jealous? Cause yer acting like ya have da hots fer her."

"Don't disgust me," Jack said, revolted and though I was relieved even if before I knew the answer there was a twinge of hurt I would have to be careful to never show. It was not as if I was ever interested in Jack, but its ego bruising to know how unattractive you might be to someone. "I just don't want me newsie acting like a ninny."

"Well, she wasn't," Racetrack defended me as he rejoined the conversation and I heard Spots audible snort. I groaned with the frustration this minor conflict was creating.

"Thank you, Race. At least somebody will defend my honor," I scowled, sending a withering look to Micah before realizing anxiously how suspicious that was and reversing my look to Jack and Spot.

"You should go flirt with Micah to confuse everybody," Camelot suggested with a sly smirk and I grinned back, the idea sounding very appealing.

"Don't give her any ideas," Spot warned his sister, though he was more infuriated with her encouragement than he was letting on. My misdemeanor was inappropriate, too radical for him to already handle and he didn't seem eager for another helping. At least not so soon.

"Don't worry, Spotty," I laughed, winking suggestively. It was the only way I could counter the control he has over my emotions, trying a different way of fighting that wouldn't bring him back. "There's plenty of me to go round."

"I don't go for sluts," he answered proudly and I sighed with a restraint that was breaking. Micah tensed at that and Racetrack as well seemed ready to strike but Jack stood there predictably, an expression that clearly said 'you deserved that'.

"Funny, Conlon, because it seems sluts are da only thing ya do go for. Takes one to know one," I said breezily, leaping out of line blindly and carelessly. I was going back on every promise I had just made to myself. I didn't know why I was provoking him but everything I tightly harbored converted into a dry anger and Spot's presence was the wood that fed that fire. Spot took a step towards me with practiced danger and Camelot twisted his shirt in her hand, restraining him but with a warning look telling me there was only so far she would let me attack her brother. His glare deepened when he looked back at his sister, ordering her icily to let go of him but she stood her ground, scowling back and they silently communicated until she finally released him.

"Why don't ya come see fer yerself how much of a dirty whore ya are. I'm having a little shindig at Medda's tomorrow. I'd have it at Brooklyn but Medda wants ta see all of us again. I'd be honored by you coming," he bowed extravagantly but his eyes never left mine, reading for the emotions I'd never let him see. I was sure I was emotionless as I mulled it over but really I had no choice. It was a challenge and I was no coward.

"You would," I replied cockily, but my arrogance was just to dig under his skin and combat with his own weapons. "How bout it, Race? Is their get together enough fun to make me forget Spot Conlon is there too?"

"Trust me," Spot began but I cut him off.

"Excuse me, is your name Race?" I said primly without even turning to face him.

"Nothing can make ya forget me," he whispered huskily as he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me towards him. I let out a contaminated breath as I collided with his chest, feeling his chiseled abdomen from years of these streets. His free arm snaked around my arm, caressing it, and the heat flash scorched me. Wincing, I remembered the cause for this. He heard my words in a way they were not said. He knew of the effect he had on me earlier and was only too eager to have the upper hand again, and for whatever fear he had of me he had to fight and the only way he knew how was to gain this control. For whatever fear I had of him the only thing I could do was fight but not like this; part of my fear was because of this. It was cycle that would never end.

"Conlon, get yer greasy fingers off me," I snapped, struggling from him but his grip only tightened until his fingers were painfully digging into my skin, sure to leave marks. I had taught myself how to end pain if I willed it away and now a new lesson was formed; how to stop any attraction I had for Spot Conlon right now. My brain screamed at every fiber to forget this, forget him, that I could be free of the gooseflesh where his fingers touched. Yet pain and whatever initial attraction I have for Spot Conlon were not the same thing and I could not will this away.

A/N- thanks to anybody who read this. c'mon, please review? reviews are what keeps me writing this. and i would love critiques.


	9. Chapter 9: Blood will Never Stop

A/N- Gasp! sort of quick update. yeah, i had a lot of spare time on my hands. the next chapter will have more Spotty in it. C'mon, please review. it's what keeps me writing this. it doesn't take that much time. pleeeeeeease.

Disclaimer-disney owns the newsies blah blah blah.

"Brooklyn," I heard someone roughly say and my spirits were crushed. I was put in the position of a damsel in distress and I despised myself for it. Now I had no chance to reverse what was being done.

"Can I help you?" Spot growled slowly, eyes never leaving me but the ice in his tone more than made up for it. He was a warning in itself not to get in the way with what he wanted. He wanted to teach me the lesson that I thirsted for him, that he could have any broad he chose for the night and any girl that crossed his path _would _swoon and_ would_ be his conquest, for only his pride. It did not matter to him who was watching; he didn't give a damn about anybody but his holy self.

"Yer hurting her," Micah ended lamely and the sharp nails sliced deeper into my skin instinctively, refusing to listen to anybody but his own self. Finally he loosened his grip enough so I could pull away, stumbling until Racetrack hauled me to my feet firmly and didn't release his grip on my arm, probably for confidence I wouldn't attack Spot like every tensed muscle and every beat of my heart told me to. My brain, Racetrack's arm, and Jack's warning were the only things holding me back. I gave into glaring with more spitting hatred than I knew I harbored as he combated it with an icily superior look.

"I don't see how it's any business of yers," Spot spat and I turned a desperate look to Micah for a lie that wasn't there. Ego bruised though thankful that I was for him ending our little skit it had been too suspicious. Today Micah and I were strangers so what background did he have for his interventions?

"I ain't too fond of goils getting beat up," Micah hissed with deadliness in his own expression as Spot cast a bored look towards him. Very good, Micah. Now that we know you can think quick will that matter after you're six feet below the ground?

"I wasn't hurting her. And if I was she deserved it," Spot retaliated harshly.

"Spot," Jack said calmly but in his placid tone was the warning. Spot was over stepping his boundaries here in his lodging house, toying with his newsies, and instigating a fight that should never take place. It was a test for dominance in Manhattan as Spot glowered at his ally, refusing to be the weaker power until he finally settled for grumbling that he didn't want to 'start nothing wid a supposed ally so before me fists do me tawkin I'm turning my back on you'se'.

"He'll never change," Racetrack wearied once we were left in the ruins of his departure. I watched him slice through the throng of newsboys with a deadly promise, watched the gray cap have the reigns on his golden hair when nothing could tame him, and watched the red suspenders whip out of sight.

"Don't be starting on him, Racetrack," Camelot hissed but the strength in her voice faltered. Shifting from foot to foot she stared uncomfortably at the trail of smoke Spot had ungracefully given in with, unsure and wary, giving her the impression of the age she really was. Sometimes it was too hard to remember I was surrounded by adolescents, children really, who had just grown up too quickly.

"I wouldn't," Jack spoke to the silent inquiry.

"I would," Camelot retorted, rolling her eyes. "He's me bruddah, Jack."

"Which is why ya should know enough ta let him be when he acts like dis," Micah pointed out and I choked on the initial surprise of hearing him speak to her like that. I wanted to kick myself when I remembered. It hadn't really occurred to me tonight that the background behind Micah's challenge was he had a mutual friendship with the newsies, a friendship I had forgotten.

"Don't order me round," she snapped absent-mindedly, making up her mind. "It's really why I know better den ta leave him alone right now."

"Stupid logic strikes again," I muttered as she shuffled away, following into the realms of his disappearance. Another reminder of how much of an outsider I was to this society of newsies because even Micah seemed to understand what she meant.

"Stay away from him, Venice," Jack ordered sternly, swiftly controlling the subject and with one look told me of the dire punishment if I dared disobey. Gaping, I stared but not even Racetrack seemed surprised, even more astounding was he seemed to agree with our leader even holy when he was scratching his ass. "Don't look at me like dat. I don't know how many times I've warned ya away, I don't know how many times I've ordered ya ta watch yer attitude, I don't know how many ways I have to put it and how many times I have ta say it. But I mean it dis time. You stay away from him."

"How are ya blaming me fer dis?" I demanded, stamping my foot in frustration. Frustration that no matter what it would always be my fault just because he was the mighty Spot Conlon that could do whatever the hell he wanted.

"One, ya started it wid yer stupid mock flirting. Two, I ain't starting something wid Brooklyn because you can't hold yer tongue. If ya can't act civil round him den ya ain't gonna be round him, ya heah?"

I opened my mouth to argue but Micah glared at me disapprovingly, and I knew enough that talking back would only make things worse. I didn't want to have to hear this berating right now, furious already that Spot controlled my words to repeat the rawness that had ripped the seams in the bunkroom just for his amusement, for his twisted sadistic dominance, and furious that I still let myself feel these things for him. Closing my eyes I did not want to see Micah's disappointment in me. It was hard to realize before that I did not want Micah's shame like a child starved for approval when all she saw was mistakes. That was why I had gotten up and joined that poker game that changed everything, so he wouldn't stay angry that I wouldn't join ranks with him. Being scolded in front of him and Racetrack was humiliating enough.

Taking my silence for an answer when I opened my eyes again Jack was no longer watching me with the bordering threat of telling me to leave this lodging house. He wasn't watching me at all, instead turned towards Micah and apologizing.

"Race, can ya make sure nobody gets too out of line?" Jack confided the baton of power in his friend and Racetrack nodded easily, not letting it go to his head and apparently this sort of trust occurred often.

"Too bad I don't have Spot's cane," Racetrack joked, smiling devilishly. "Dey wouldn't mess wid da shoit man den."

"Micah and I are gonna go tawk outside for a bit. Clear our heads," Jack explained, smirking as he patted him on the back without sparing a glance to me. Micah followed dutifully, nodding a thanks to Racetrack, but gave me a last promising look that we would eventually talk, even for just a minute before he left.

"Yer gonna listen to Jack, ain't ya?" Racetrack asked tentatively as he picked up the loaned jacket and threw it to the nearest bunk. I smiled wickedly and his gaze darkened, fooled.

"I don't have a choice, Race."

"He just doesn't want ya ta get hurt," Racetrack sighed, running a tired hand through his hair and I watched him skeptically. Understanding my look he gave me his own skeptical look. "A moment ago I said Spot would nevah change. I don't know how he does it but Spot has always had some power over goils. Sure, Jack can make a goil swoon but Spot has got dat something extra dat puts a goil in danger. She don't even realize it half da time. He makes dem want things dey never should and do things a prostitute wouldn't even do. And he enjoys every moment of it. Especially after they're just anuddah notch on his bed post and dey still are pining for him. We ain't blind, Venice. We listened to ya fight but we didn't hear it. We saw it in yer eyes when he touched ya."

"I don't know wad yer tawkin bout," I said stiffly, heartbeat quickening and my brain battled every word with reasons I couldn't justify. I knew all of this; it was just worse coming from somebody else. Not that I ever had my doubts about who Spot was. Yet now Micah had witnessed my attitude here and probably knew of feelings for a boy he knew enough about to curl my blood. How could Racetrack get so close to the truth? How could I let my masks slip and let him see any feeling I had for a boy I hated everything about?

"Wadevah ya say," he agreed without hiding his disbelief, watching me for any trace as I put a tight reign on an emotionless expression of the lies that just kept building. "I just want ya ta know I don't think anything less of ya."

An unexplainable surge of affection exploded for the stout Italian and all restraint was harbored elsewhere, leaving me without control. Without thinking I threw my arms around him and he pulled back slightly before embracing me back. I felt safe, a feeling I hardly knew anymore. But my emotions had been repressed for too long and I drew away, blushing furiously. Our relationship was entirely platonic, I felt nothing for him other than an affection one would feel for a close friend or brother even if we hardly knew each other.

"C'mon, I see Blink looking out da window. Mush is probably back," he announced for my own embarrassed sake. Ruffling my hair he dragged me towards the stairs that Kid Blink was already trekking towards. "Wad kind of friends would we be if we gave him a moment's peace?"

"Compassionate," I said thoughtfully before grinning. "But there's no fun in dat."

A/N- there's a bunch of spaces here but the posessed format won't let me. just jump ahead to early morning.

The brilliant red was still wet on her immaculate ivory nightdress. Fresh blood spilt onto the fine lines of the hard wood floor that was caving beneath my feet, outlining fact and fiction and the waking nightmare. The dripping blood mocked me with her velvet whispers, "Your fault, Lisolette."

I knew perfection's flaws when nobody else saw the hollowness of a heart that once burned. The finger pointed at me again but I was the lone wolf who saw the hunger in her eyes as she stood over that infant. I hadn't even heard Lily scream. Now she'd never scream again. I would never have heard Gina's manipulation if I hadn't tip toed into the room. What if…my fault! Everything was. Mother's slow deterioration, father's hatred and nighttime visits, and now this. Death. My fault when I hadn't even laid a hand to her.

"I didn't…why is she?" I heard myself sob. Heard the younger and confused me under my step-sister's deceit. Felt, not saw, Essie in the doorway completely numb. Cotton suffocated me and I couldn't scream around it for my sister's help.

"You did do it. Don't you remember? How could you?"

"Let?" Essie whispered, heart broken questions in her voice.

I looked back to the hardwood floor, dreaming it was gone, but there still lay the blood drenched baby clothes. That morning I woke with the knife beneath my pillow. Was this how it felt to go insane?

"So much blood…make it stop," I moaned incoherently, pressing my fingers into my eyes to escape the pain when it only brought more. It was crawling towards me, falling everywhere, strangling.

Screaming my throat burned and my eyes broke into the world of fake reality, gas lamps burning the darkness that was behind my eyelids. For the secrets that fell I closed my mouth and curled into a ball, feeling like I had been punched straight to the gut and needing oxygen or I would die. Tears streaming I silently prayed for it to end. Silently prayed that I could eternally escape this.

His hands were frantic as I felt them grip my arms and I screeched one high pitched note before I could scream no more, before my voice fell away. I was dragged into a sitting position and I knew who surrounded me, knew it and despised it but as the sobs wracked my body.

"Get it off," I begged, looking at Racetrack pleadingly. He stared at me in catastrophic confusion but it seemed to pain him not to be able to do anything. "I didn't! Believe me, please. No! Shut up, shut up, shut up. My fault…"

"Wad was yer fault?" Racetrack probed gently, trying to weed information from a hysterical child. My bones rattled when I couldn't answer, my body shaking with suppressed sobs. "Wad blood?"

I looked at my hands desperately, seeing the blood that I carried my dead sister in. Death to life. The blood would never ever leave me no matter how many times I washed my hands.

"There's no blood, Lani. Ya were just having a nightmare," he soothed, wrapping an arm around my shaking shoulders and I drew away from him like he had burned me. Staring fearfully at the leering faces I had no where left to run, trapped and already caged like some untamed animal.

"It wasn't my fault. The blood was there even before I saw. It wasn't, it wasn't," I sobbed, blinded and immobilized at the bloodless floor. Helpless to my tears I let them come and did not care who was watching.

"Move," Jack ordered authoritatively and stepped around Race, plopping beside me and dragging me towards him with a force I couldn't fight. I didn't have the energy to and fell into arms that were holding me to him. I buried my face into his chest, felt the salty tears burning my own skin but could feel nothing else. I could hear nothing, could see nothing, even the blood, as the tears fell and my body shook. It wasn't my fault! All that mattered now was making them believe me and I whispered quietly into his chest words so jumbled I didn't even know what I was saying. I pulled away as far as he would let me and craned my head, speaking words I couldn't define.

"We know, we know it wasn't," Jack soothed, his voice tranquilizing me. Time was broken as I sat there staring into a void that never existed, still cradled in Jack's arms, too tired to even lift my head, drowning blissfully in his calming words.

I didn't know what he was talking about but sighing I let the tears escape for someone who lived for the lies. Silently crying for everything- mother's death, father's cruelty, the negligence of years of abandonment and silence, my half-sister, my sister's betrayal, Lily's death, each time I had been backed into a corner with no where to run. I cried until I ran out of tears. Drained I stopped moving to the sound of my beating heart and quietly waited for any of my strength to rekindle its flame if it ever burned again.

"I'm sorry," I whispered when he finally let me go, leaving me to turn and face what I had just done. This was something I could not run from.

"Don't be," he replied firmly, steel in his eye supporting whatever concern he watched me with. "We all need a good cry sometimes."

"Even you?" I asked wryly, letting myself smile, feeling the strength seep back into a weak heart.

"Even me," he answered grimly before smiling as well.

"Well…thanks," I said lamely, every wit leaving me for something more powerful…sincerity. A mutual understanding struck the differences between us before the embarrassment could really sink in. Wincing I couldn't believe what I had just done.

"I couldn't just leave ya screaming, ya woulda woken da lodging house," he said lightly before his gaze hardened. "I couldn't."

I smiled to myself for the first time in his presence. It wasn't much, but his heart wasn't completely blackened to me just yet. It wasn't much, but he hadn't let me suffer alone like he probably had to. Tears for a kindness any of us were rarely shown moistened my tired eyes and he looked alarmed, like he wouldn't know what to do if I started crying again.

"Nobody else knows," he responded for the sake of my pride, reading thoughts that haven't even had the chance to devour me yet. "Cammie couldn't wake ya so she got me and Racetrack heard. I told dem ta get out aftah. Now it's bout time ta wake up so ya bettah go get ready."

He stretched as I moved to let him stand, but his gaze didn't leave me. I was thankful he was letting this drop but absorbed with the dread and anticipation if he would ever confront me about blood nobody else saw. For now he knew every day I lived with what my nightmares reinforced and that was too much. I would just have to be careful around him from now on, for different reasons than before. He didn't see me as a ninny, as weak, I didn't know why I knew that but I did but that could change. I couldn't let myself breakdown like I just had. Jack's words, hiding and forgetting my crippling battle with a newsie years ago, Jack's order of staying away from Spot Conlon became suddenly all too important.

"Ven?" a voice asked and it took me a minute to realize I was being spoken to. Camelot stood at the doorway, the shadows falling across her making her seem smaller than she was but something was there I hadn't seen there before. If I didn't know who she was I would have thought it was fear, a fear I could smell like a bloodhound.

"Cam?" I mimicked with a smirk to tell her I was only teasing. The tears that stained my cheeks and my swollen eyes were the only sign of my breakdown and if she hadn't been the first to know she wouldn't have been able to tell the melodramatic scene that had been played out.

"I got ya some watah ta wash yer face wid. Da boys don't get too happy when we wander in da washroom when they've claimed sacred ground," she informed me, handing me a tin cup and a droplet of frigid water splattered onto my skin as the cup shook. Shuddering I set it down on the bureau and I turned to thank her but she was already gone. Strange, strange, kid. I turned back to the tin cup where in its freezing depths lay my salvation, a salvation I wouldn't mind doing without. Taking a deep breath I dipped my hand into it and felt the numbness tear at my fingers, shooting like knives simultaneously.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," she said and I jumped back, caught off guard at her reappearance and the bit of water I cupped in my hand spilt onto my shirt. Swearing like a sailor, my lungs froze and I gave her an icy glare to rival how cold I was. Even if I had only spilt a tiny fraction of the water. Her look was only amused as she continued, "Jack wants ta know how long you've been wearing yer clothes. He says it looks like you've been wearing dem yer whole _FUCKING_ life. Oops, yeah, he told me to leave the _FUCKING_ part out."

I couldn't help laughing at her cheekiness and Jack's sharp warning, easily hearing her cuss even if he was yards away when her voice rose at the forbidden word both times. Triumphant with her mischief she turned impatiently towards me, her look clearly saying she had better things to do than being Jack's parrot so I'd better answer fast.

"Why does he say dat?" I instigated with laughter in my voice at her aggravation. Avoiding her look I imagined the state of my clothes- my black trousers had been faded with time as had my gray shirt and neither had started in first class condition, and with me in them they had taken a beating. I wasn't rich so I never had to sculpt my appearance but I had been less than careful even for a street kid when no other clothes were available. The bottoms of my pants were torn and mud caked, a layer of dirt and dust coating the rest and even my shirt had been frayed with age and stained from a history of my sloppy eating. Even blood from fights coated its collar. No wonder it was proving hard for me to sell anything at all when people avoided me.

"Not dat appearance should mattah," I sighed bitterly, recording how society relied on appearance. Dressed nicely we mattered. Dressed in rags we didn't. Those beautiful were prized. Those who weren't were forgotten. It wasn't fair or balanced but that was how life ticked and nothing could ever end the brutal system.

"It's America's caste system," she agreed, surprising me with her knowledge and even more with the accuracy with which she read my thoughts. But then again I knew who she was related to. "I ain't got much but ya can borrow something of mine."

Quirking an eyebrow I scrutinized her apparel once again, this time allowing my protests to show. I had no right to judge but what she wore amazed me. Khaki trousers with a hole revealing her dirty right knee and grass stains around the bottoms were not unusual, even the black boots with the thin green ribbon lacing them was not. It was the lavender material resembling a shirt length chemise peaking from underneath her long sleeved button up, black but the paint splattered in separate thin lines was in reds, purples, oranges, greens, blues, and whites. Eccentric was the only word I could think of and I wished I had been selling papers long enough to know how to still gather customers when what she wore would so obviously drive them away. "How come ya dress like dat?"

"Like wad?" she asked innocently but her response was sharp, an indication this wasn't the first she was hearing of her clothes. Her gaze softened and I knew she was figuring I meant no harm. "I don't know. Really I did dis ta me shoit when Spot got sore wid me fer spilling paint on Racetrack. I swear it was an accident! But nobody believed me since I was mad at him fer poking fun at me cause I liked dis immigrant dat just got off da ship. So I threw paint on me own shirt," she ended nonchalantly before continuing as an afterthought. "I guess I like to be different. To prove I won't bow down to society. I don't know."

"Makes ya a bulls eye fer da bulls," I warned her but she just shrugged.

"Trust me, I know."

"I wish I could of seen Spot's face when ya did dat," I laughed, getting a vivid image of his disturbed fury.

"You've got strange desires," she joked, grimacing for a memory not long ago before we both heard Jack's voice rise outside the door.

"Conlon, I didn't send ya in dere so you'se two could chit chat!" Jack snapped and her glare seemed to penetrate the solidity of the door. If it reached him that was his reason for pushing the door open, crossing his arms and ignoring me to reciprocate her glare.

"I ain't a dog! I ain't heah ta do yer bidding," she seethed. Her voice should've lost its fire since he came in; presenting a threat to put her back in line but it only seemed to feed her annoyance. Damn did she have her brother's temper. I wanted to kick myself- why couldn't I keep my mind off the sadist?

"Little girl, ya bettah change yer attitude," he warned her, his voice on edge and I knew his threat was not empty. Her eyes narrowed, daring him for a moment to make her do as she was told before her resolve collapsed. Knowing how to pick her battles she decided this wasn't one of them and she just stamped her foot and stared at the floor in submission.

"Venice, besides da goil tawk did ya get my message?" he asked tiredly. I was growing accustomed to seeing the dark circles beneath his eyes- his role as leader was tough and we weren't making it any easier.

"Yeah, Jack, I hoid ya," I acknowledged, letting up on him and not forgetting what he had done for me barely ten minutes ago. Without him I could still be caught in the waking nightmare, screaming and sobbing, at best. "I don't got nothing else."

"Camelot, ya have something normal don't ya?" he asked her and she looked away from him angrily, feeling the attack. His tone was supposed to be teasing but his aggravation made it come out harsh. "She needs da help selling," he laughed at my expense, trying to ease the sting of his words.

"Yeah I got something," she mumbled. I glared at Jack because I understood his repairing was a slight at my selling, 'normal' clothes the only thing able to help me. The musketeers really need to learn to keep their mouths shut. He cast me an apologetic look while she slammed drawers in the bureau with more force than need. Thrusting a bundle of clothes into my arms she gave me a look that clearly said 'better be satisfied'.

Looking I was relieved at how our definition of normal was the same- khaki trousers worn from age but in good condition with a flattering long green sleeved shirt and a brown vest. "Thanks, Cam."

"Take care of da shoit, I actually like it. And da vest is me only one," she instructed quietly and I smiled reassuringly, just hoping they would fit. Years of starvation had toned my stomach but I was still easily bigger than her. There was a cracked mirror nailed to the wall she probably had renovated so she wouldn't be hindered if she couldn't get into the washroom before the boys invaded and I sighed in relief, strutting towards it. If I was changing my clothes I would have to see how badly my appearance matched my attire before and try to improve something. Staying away from Spot Conlon was starting over here, and I was determined not to stay disaster.

Avoiding the cracks I stared into a reflection I could not escape from- every time I looked into a mirror I would always see the same thing. It was a realization I had made very young, something that kept me grounded to the idea I couldn't escape from myself. No matter what I wished or how many first stars I saw a fairytale could not change me. Beauty was something I'd never believe in myself no matter how many times I heard it, and I never heard it from my family but just the opposite. Walking down the street I had gotten stares but I kept them away. Any comment ever made on my looks I took as jokes. So I didn't quite know what anybody thought of me. My midnight black hair was cut strangely, bangs at my chin and the rest flowing to mid-waist, a cross between curled, tousled, and waved and layered so the strands were different lengths. My eyes were abnormal as well, light ocean blue crossed with twilight and gray, emerald, and light green specks, sometimes light and clear and spirited and sometimes as stormy as the ocean. My skin was pale, cheeks rosy and high, softly sculpted, and I was not tall and slender- merely scrawny and five feet. The only thing I appreciated were the dark and long eyelashes and the tiny freckles on my nose, upper cheeks, and around my eyes, so miniscule somebody would have to be inches from my face to notice. Of course then nobody would ever see them.

Shaking myself from a reverie of being a graceful blonde I returned to my original purpose. Dirt smudged my cheeks, soot darkening it, the tear stains still gleaming but there was something different I could not place. A gleam in my eyes that hadn't been there before, a gleam I didn't know if it was good or bad.

Turning I saw Camelot's skulking expression softening, Jack's arm around her tiny shoulders like an affectionate surrogate brother's, speaking to her softly. Catching me looking they drew apart but neither blushed, reinforcing there was nothing intimate in their embrace. I harbored no ill feelings towards her, proving I was not attracted to Jack, my jealousy was for their closeness- like siblings these newsies were and it hit me now how I missed such affection. Of course I didn't want to be brawling with words, fists, or both.

"Why ain't ya getting ready?" Jack demanded, growing tired of watching me finger the clothes.

"Gee, I dunno, maybe cause I don't want ya peeping."

"Ya shoulda told me to leave."

"Den ya would've gotten mad at me!"

"Get changed, Venice, I'm sick of ya wasting time," he commanded and I rolled my eyes, his smirk telling me it was just a joke. Under any other circumstances maybe I wouldn't heard that but with Jack it was hard to tell the difference.

"Yessir," I slurred and saluted as Jack and Camelot departed, closing the door behind them. Sighing, I stalked back to the bureau and dipped a rag she had dropped by it into the freezing water and ran it across my face. It was almost disgusting the layer of dirt that was now on that dirty rag. It was almost disgusting how I couldn't remember what Micah had been rambling about last night when we had escaped to the fire escape. It was almost disgusting how I had barely paid attention to tormenting Mush and his goofy grin last night. It was disgusting that all I could do was wonder about where Spot Conlon had gotten off to.

A/N- well there it was. dun dun dun. good? bad? mediocre? I would love to hear your feedback and so would Spot, who's tied up right here begging for them. hmmm, i'm a little hyper right now. but thank you for reading this and i hope you review/ enjoyed it.

Shout outs!

Dreamer Conlon- i could sit here for hours typing how much i appreciate you reviewing, could make a song and dance about it, or could just put it like this. THANK YOU. reviewers keep me writing this mahoozit. i'm very glad you enjoyed it and i hope this chapter pleased you. i would love to know what you think of this chapter and any critiques you have. but thank you again for reviewing and I hope you liked this. hehe, hopefully i'll have another quick update. hopefully...


	10. Chapter 10: Somewhere you belong

A/N- Boo, I'm back with another chapter but that's pretty obvious. Thank you for reading this and I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer- I don't own the newsies, Disney does. I do own other people though. There, short and simple.

**Chapter Ten**

The sun rose and the sun began to fall and the day passed in routine. This was how life should be, with no memories, no fights with Jack, and no Spot Conlon. It was go sell papers with Mush, Blink, and Race, except today Camelot joined us for reasons of her own, go to Tibby's, go sell more papers, and return to the lodging house. It was a familiarity I needed for stability, with nothing drastic injuring our minds, souls, and bones, nothing but sweating hard for our work and playing around. There was no thinking, no time for it, or are senses wouldn't be so sharp. It was how life should be.

"So ole Spotty hosts quite da shin dig," I observed as the bunkroom became like an anthill with water just spilt on it. Camelot grunted in agreement as Specs shot me a dirty look while he wiped the grime from his glasses.

"Watch it before I kick ya off me bunk," he threatened emptily and I rolled my eyes, scanning the bunkroom for another just if the universe played against us and he really did force us off. Most of the bunks were free, the boys too anxious to do much sitting or relaxing but I doubted many of them would graciously let us commandeer their bunk. Thinking along the same lines Camelot's expression told me she would turn temporarily deaf to their protests and sit wherever she pleased.

"I was just saying," I mumbled and he watched me skeptically, knowing I had meant to insult how girly they were acting. Damn pretty boys take forever to get ready. We had returned here about half an hour ago and after Jack's venting about New York they had been getting ready for twenty minutes now.

"You shoulda been at Medda's last time Spot had a party dere," Specs said, his face lighting up just with a memory I didn't have and I didn't want to have. Being in a room for hours with Spot Conlon was enough to stay my appetite for a good time. "It was wild, lasted until three when everybody was pretty much too drunk ta go home."

"Specs was wearing a skirt," Camelot remarked nonchalantly, watching Specs from the corner of her eye to see if he had taken the bait. Guffawing, I stared questioningly at Specs, beginning to see him in a different light.

"Don't believe anything dat comes from da runt's mouth," he said bitterly, marching off when Dutchy called for his assistance.

"Me, Race, and Gip put it on him when he passed out," Camelot admitted guiltily, shrugging like this sort of thing happened every day. "You'll meet Gip tonight. She's Queens but she's alright. Jack always says he want ta adopt her heah or into Brooklyn."

"Aw, ain't dat cute, da dame's are having goil tawk," Kid Blink chortled, appearing randomly by our side with Mush.

"Aw, ain't dat cute, da rats are back," Camelot retorted.

"Ya two ain't gonna change?" Mush queried to override Blink's retaliation.

"Why?" I mused and shot the two a significant look. "Ain't nobody woith impressing."

"Not even a certain blonde haired king?" Jack said vaguely as he passed and I snatched up a marble from the floor, chucking it at him and hitting my targets head.

"Oops," I said sweetly, still scowling for his out of line comment. He glared over his shoulder as he sauntered away, patting his cleanly shaven face…not that he had much to shave. My skin prickled for whatever truth was in Jack's words, the only truth was to make him wish he didn't treat me with less respect than a prostitute. Still, I had a promise I wouldn't abandon- to keep away from Spot Conlon. Too much trouble stirred, too many unwanted emotions, whenever our paths crossed.

"Nice aim," Racetrack observed quietly and my head snapped to him for the eerie depth in his voice drawing me to him manipulatively. He, a street rat, was a master of collecting looks and sculpting them so everything could be put in one simple glance my way and he wouldn't break the gaze until he made his point clear. I was transparent and bare from his words last night, his words about my infatuation with the arrogant Brooklyn leader. He was reminding me of that promise I had made and everything it entailed and I gave him an innocent smirk, leaving the suspense there. I had yet to try avoiding Spot Conlon and wasn't sure it was possible when he was everywhere.

Breaking our gaze Racetrack sighed with the weight of the world, giving me an annoyed look. Camelot saw this exchange and quirked an eyebrow but I wasn't about to inform her of the promises everything relied on. There was no telling if it would anger her or not.

"So ya might have ta stay out of trouble wid big bruddah watching," Blink casually addressed Camelot as Jack's order brought us to our feet. He was apparently ready and therefore everybody else was expected to be as well.

"Probably not," Camelot answered sincerely as she gratefully took the hand Racetrack held out. I winced too as I rolled off the bunk, my legs stiff from being sprawled in the same position so long, but the boys are learning to never offer a hand I won't take. "He'll be too entertained by his floozy's."

For an unexplainable fathom her comment stung, pinpricking me slightly like a needle in my chest. Small enough to forget but too large to ignore. I could hardly associate it with jealousy, but sometimes the monster roars the loudest when you can't hear it, and I couldn't right now, too overwhelmed with loathing the boy. Closing my eyes I restrained myself from lowering the bastard a few notches, the only retaliation I had to fight off the small prick at my pride.

"Let's get going before Jack pisses his pants," Racetrack suggested dryly and we chuckled at the image as Jack raced by, assuring that the little ones were well looked after. Hornet was there beside Crutchy, watching with puppy dog eyes, and guilt took its quick blow. He had done good in my book my first day here and I had hardly spoken to him since, only when the night dragged on when Racetrack took all our money. Catching me staring he smiled shyly and I winked, just hoping I wasn't another to just come and go in his eyes. There were enough of those who forgot to stay.

I hadn't bothered to bring the jacket Hope leant me, fearing I'd just loose it and it looked ridiculous on me as it was. If she was there, as Mush indicated in not so subtle hints, she shouldn't be offended, not if she was everything Mush had made her to be. Regret sung its lament as we started out the lodging house. The weather was cooler than I remembered it being but I had grown immune to some of the biting air and as if it knew of our journey it was warmer than it had been these past few days. It was enough to ignore it; it was enough to imagine the sun shining on our backs.

The walk left me alone to my thoughts, hardly there but listening to the boy's excitement and their laughter, even the steadiness of their breathing, was enough to prove I existed. It was my choice to walk solitarily, Mush and Blink a few feet away dodging each other's slaps, every once in a while running through the throng of newsies screaming bloody murder. Racetrack and Camelot lagged behind the rest of us, speaking of things only they would understand; Specs had wandered off to some unknown place and Jack was proudly leading his group of miscreants and misfits. The boy reminded me too much of a deranged father who was proud of his little boys and girls lighting fire to the neighbor's dog. Wondering if any about me were pyromaniacs I sent a wary glance to Snitch, the closest to me. His fingers were light when pockets were generous and I discreetly patted my pocket, wondering if any treasure was abandoned in there. There was something I felt, but it was probably just a crumbled piece of paper of no value. Relaxing I sent a glare to Snitch, warning him of the dire consequences if he so much as thought of stealing from me. He wouldn't steal from the others, not only out of fear of the soaking he would get, but the sacred trust that held these boys together. Sighing, there was nothing I could do about it. Snitch had not taken to me kindly so far, whether it was his internal reasons or for my own attitude I did not know. Right now he was just reminding me in his own way that I did not belong here.

"I'm sure ya have some money," he whispered as he casually slipped beside me, keeping his eyes trained to the ground. It was the act of a coward and the act of one who does not want ears overhearing him, of a boy who knew he would be frowned upon and so far out of line silence would be his companion for days more. "From yer oddah job. Yer day and night job. Filthy whore," he hissed, glancing up at me from the corner of his eye and waiting for a reaction that would never come.

It took everything to keep my hand at bay, it took everything to keep my foot from making friends with his family jewel's, but it took every ounce of self control I had left to keep my face emotionless. Keeping the blush from my cheeks at the impropriety heat rushed it simultaneously with the ice of the blow. Reason kept me from a harsh retaliation, kept me walking like I hadn't heard him. He only wanted the upper hand. It wasn't until I had gotten myself under complete control that I said emotionlessly, "I don't know what rumors you've all started and what you say about me when I'm not around. I don't know what Spot Conlon's said about me when my back is turned, never mind when it's not. Whatever he said is a lie. You're more of a whore than I am."

His snort came very close to shattering the ice I sheltered myself with; maybe he wanted to because he sure as hell didn't realize it was for his own protection. "Den why ya can afford living at da lodging house, afford all dose fancy books, dat jacket, even though yer not da best seller?"

"How do you know how I sell?" I retorted quietly, recognizing his earlier astonishment from not what I said but how I said it. My accent dropped I knew how to speak fairly properly and had some education. I was lucky, most of these boys couldn't even write. I was lucky it was proving my point when most whores were illiterate. "You aren't around then. If you heard anything you'll know that it's enough to eat once in a while and it's enough for my room. I don't have any books, I read a lot before and that's why I know of them. The jacket is Mush's girls, Hope's, she lent it to me. Next time get your facts straight."

"Ya can say and lie all ya want, _Lani_," Snitch sneered, emphasizing my 'real name' as a show of how I did not belong here and never would. "It don't change ya in my eyes. It don't change ya in most of da boy's eyes. Ya tawk and ya act like yer a man. So ya act like a woiking goil. Ya don't belong heah, Lani. You and I know both know it. Ya tawk proper and yer ideas, yer actions, are too radical for us. Go home. Go weah you'se belong. Before I make ya."

This time his arrow hit the target and I almost heard the imaginary icy shell I had defended myself and protected him with shatter into a million pieces around us, creating a ring of ice like a ring of fire. Nails digging so hard into my palm I felt them drawing blood I used every bit of concentration on the loose pebble in the cobblestone, keeping me from sinking too far into my head. His words were like quicksand, dragging me into dark places where no light shed, cryptically hidden realms of my mind where I didn't escape from them for days. I was knocking upon that door. I hope it won't open.

The whispers I ignored but heard weren't worth complaining of when they surrounded my very shadow, lurked in the footsteps like the monster coming down the hall. It was never really a problem with the trio of boys guarding me, distracting me from the cruel rumors they knew I heard and their upper class within the newsies, their reputation, and the muscles they'd flex were enough to keep the savages at bay. At least so they'd shut their mouths when I was around and to keep them from acting out on their words. Mush, Kid Blink, and Racetrack protected me in more ways than I'd ever like to acknowledge. I hadn't heard from the Delancey's and their want for retribution since the awful occurrence, since I had met the newsies, because the boys kept me sheltered from them. It was no heavy blow to my pride when I handled my own if I saw the trouble coming. If anything I was more grateful than they'd understand.

The rumors had been there though and there was no denying that, and slowly they had crawled under my skin. I had come out of nowhere with no family and not a dime to my name but Jack had taken me in, and I mostly kept to myself but I challenged their leader, their legend, and every value they held dear. Camelot they saw as a sister and were used to her gallivanting in men's clothes but I was everything more than their inferior; it was my impropriety, it was my sins. I was nothing more than a filthy whore to them who threatened their way of life.

One foot was in the door and I clutched at the frame for my dearest sanity, for my own and for Snitch's protection. I didn't belong here. I couldn't. Even if I did and even if I wanted to the promises I had made so very long ago were still too real, too close to my heart for me to abandon them. I could not rely on anybody, not even myself anymore; I needed my own seclusion for my safety. I was only here on a bet that would last little more than a week longer and then I will vanish. I had worked it all in my head. I will just simply say I am leaving for family in Chicago. Hop the train and never look behind me at this city full of memories, good, bad, but mostly bad. I didn't belong anywhere but in the furnace room where I was my own company. I had lived apart from society for too long to ever grasp on life, I never had a steady grasp before. I would never know how to act. And I will never conform because society is screaming my name. Never. I would never find friendship, the word love would always be a mystery. But that's what I needed. I would just live a shell until I die, probably in no more than two years with the drug releases and the bottles I've been to the bottom of time and time again.

I was so sick of this way of thinking. I wanted to scream the injustice of it all but I couldn't move my lips. I wanted to vent and make a scene, stamp my foot and scream until I could scream no more. Control was a tricky thing. Once so tight with a few small words it can turn into sand drifting through your hand, and Snitch had brought those small words. The tight reigns I put on myself snapped and every resolve I had broke, leaving me with a consuming rage of frustration that could kill if I let it out. I was a danger to myself. Still walking I stopped short and spun to face him so fast my head span, and he stopped dead and faced me defensively. He took a step back as I took a step forward, eyes blazing with a fire so wild I looked nothing short of a furiously savage animal on the hunt, going in for the kill. Snitch was my kill.

"Guess wad, Snitch? I ain't a whore, not more den you anyway. Wassamattah, Snitchy? Can't stand seeing a strong woman? Don't have the chance to degrade me to a whore, not even a prostitute trying to provide for her family, but a god damn floozy for your own masculine pride. Or are you scared? Scared of little ole' me. You were gonna set me in my place, or you were gonna make me leave. Remember? Wad are ya gonna do now, Snitchy? Run?" I sneered, taking another small step towards him but now he held his place not like the coward he was. His face was dumb, emotionless, dumbfounded and bewildered. We were gaining an audience even in one boy who I didn't know who was, didn't care. Now he had to save face. It was his ultimate fault, that he would put himself into danger for pride.

"Run? I'd only run from something I respect. I ain't scared of you, Lani, I'se scared fer you when I get Jack ta throw ya to da streets."

"And how are ya gonna do dat," I hissed maliciously, challenging him with my eyes to even try. Fueled by the chauvinistic support he did not respond to my dare and I watched him warily, telling myself not to take the bait, whatever he threw at me next to get me evicted. I didn't have time to weigh my options before the feet between us was crossed and the brick wall feet behind me before was now my intimate friend. Blackness veiled sight as specs of color pierced the oblivion at the initial impact of being thrown backwards to the wall, my head colliding with it painfully. Stomach churning and knees knobbing I raised my fist to fight back only to find it was twisted painfully behind me, scraping against the wall.

Screaming muffled from confused frustration, rage, and pain my sight in this twilight was given back to me, but now I found I didn't want it back. I had regained my footing on reality and felt his body pressed against mine. I felt his warm breath stale with cigars breathe down my neck. I felt the hand twisted behind my back and my legs pinned to his, my other hand forced to be entwined with his, like some sadistic waltz. Glaring up through tears of pain he grinned maliciously and wolfishly down at me. He had gotten what he wanted, the upper hand and he was teaching me my place, he was saving face among the boys. I heard the cat calls and whistles and I struggled but hardly moved; he was too much larger and more muscular than I was.

His lips, lips chapped from the bitter wind and dehydration, came down upon my own before I could move my head. Trapped, head pushed against the wall, his lips remained unmoving from mine as he deepened the kiss and I fought hard, pinching his hand and struggling to move my head but I was immobile with him holding control. Tears of desperation sprung into my eyes with a sudden jolt of fear that my stomach was sent churning, ripping and tearing at my insides so painfully I tried to double over in pain. He held me up, holding the kiss steady and deepening it, as the first true tears spilled over. I was helpless to this boy. True fear gripped me as he crushed me brutally against the wall so I could not fight with my hand as he removed his. Everything was mechanic and punishing, and everything for a reason. Now his free hand found something new, something he had longed to grope on a woman and nausea interfered with any fight I had left. His hand cupped my breast, caressing it as tears grew and fell, as his tongue separated my sealed lips. The suppressed sobs broke, the noise falling into his mouth.

He drew away, eyes wide with confusion and true fear as he watched the few tears race each other down my cheek. His hand dropped and he stepped back as I clutched my sides, silencing the sobs that had started. I needed some control. I needed some way to fight back. My fist thrust towards him with the brutal hatred but my own haywire emotions, my own fear and desperation, kept me from hitting its target.

"Wads going on heah?" an authoritive voice interrupted impatiently, and I closed my eyes, hoping to open them again and find this was all a nightmare too real. Hope is strange when what you're hoping for you didn't believe.

"We're just having some fun, Jack," Snitch said, a nonchalant half-truth. Incredulous and confused Jack turned towards me with an accusing glare until his expression softened, following the bitter tears on my cheek. I wiped them away angrily. He was practiced at the art of mask breaking and decoding, seeing my fright, my desperation, and his eyes narrowed.

"Too much fun," he hissed, taking a step closer to Snitch with disappointment in his fury. I wanted to speak up for myself, defend my own honor, but I found I could do nothing but fall into the traditional role of a woman. "When I hoid about dis liddle scuffle I didn't believe it. My newsie or not I swear ya won't be able to move yer body fer a week if I evah catch ya touching or hurting Venice in any way. Venice or any oddah goil. And dat goes fer da rest of you'se," he shouted, looking at the few newsies that had stopped to watch and they nodded obediently, and I deflected their dirty looks at me with my own. "Get lost," Jack snapped and watched as Snitch cautiously, just out of arm's reach of him, scampered away, the others sullenly following. We had fallen far behind the group still moving ahead, no doubt under Jack's orders.

"Thank you," I said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he demanded gently and I looked up, eyes dry and I would not let the sadness I always controlled shine with the passion of his anger. He was gently probing; I felt his eyes like fingers removing the thorns I protected myself with. Sighing in a reluctant understanding he removed his penetrating gaze, looking anywhere but at me. He knew too well what it was to make yourself emotionless.

I wanted to say something consoling or something to show how unfortunately grateful I was for his interface when I knew his opinion of me. I couldn't get the words to make sense in my head, never mind trusting them to leave me so I fell into an uncomfortable silence. I let him suffer alone, battling with his own demons and fighting his own ghosts. Another's refusal of emotion only reminds you of your own, and what brought you to that.

"Venice. Lani," he said, turning back on me and I quirked an eyebrow at his confronting tone. Whatever he said would be hard for him. "Ya ain't easy. Yer a good goil and don't let dem tell ya different."

Smiling feebly I nodded, but I'd never really hear it. No matter how many times I heard it that would never be true- I was no good girl. But for his own comfort I smiled thankfully, revealing an understanding I had without him saying a word. He allowed Spot Conlon to talk to me like I was a woman loose of morals to set me in my place, because I deserved it with all I instigated with the Brooklyn leader when he had warned me to stay away and to hold my tongue. It was a hope that Spot would set me in my place so Jack wouldn't have to, no matter how unrealistic a hope it was. Speak of the devil…literally.

"Spot is gonna be da main event, da crème de le crème, even more den usual. He started da idea fer a get together. And I know I forbade ya ta tawk ta him, well, to have any contact wid him at all. I ain't naïve, Venice, I know dat won't happen."

"I have no desire to be within sight of him," I said primly, almost passing for somebody of upper class, somebody too good for the likes of Spot. Jack stared at me skeptically and squeamishly I remember what Racetrack had told me after Jack's final order. Lowering my head I was open and vulnerable to Jack's readings, Racetrack and him seeing what I didn't even see. My feelings for Spot Conlon went no further than infatuation. I knew who he was, I knew what he was.

"He doesn't leave things widout winning da war, Venice," he warned and my head snapped back to him in confusion. "Even if ya do as yer told, which I doubt, and keep away from him he'll look fer you. Just ta finish wad he started."

"And wad exactly was it dat he started?" I said coldly.

"He hasn't broken ya in yet. I told ya from da beginning not ta say too much to him cause he won't give up until he's gotten wad he's wanted. Spot's me best friend but I ain't tolerating him breaking my newsgirl's spirit more den it already has been."

I glared at him defensively, hearing it worse than he had said it. My spirit wasn't broken…I would never let it. Not picking up on my scowl he continued, "Now I've got people dat have been dying ta see me…"

"I'm sure they'll kill demselves when dey do," I mumbled and raising his voice slightly he ignored me.

"…So I can't spend da whole night playing guard dog."

"I can handle me own," I stubbornly argued. Tonight was to be more than just a battle between Snitch's gang and I, but a challenge, a challenge for me to keep myself out of trouble. Trouble meaning keeping away from the battle of wits that Spot promised me.

I had recovered from the little incident, I had regained my composure and my balance. Or I would tell myself that forever and always and store it to the back of my heart like I did for everything. Every word he said that hit a nerve I buried alive. I wouldn't think of them…not anymore tonight at least.

"C'mon, before we loose dem entirely," Jack ordered, gesturing towards the group of newsies disappearing around the corner. Nodding and obeying I walked beside him at a hurried pace, rushing to rejoin our group that wasn't hard to catch up to.

The rest of the walk was mundane and uneventful, but for my own sanity I was not isolated to my thoughts. Camelot and Racetrack who earlier I thought had been behind me had apparently wandered off, reappearing only with sly smirks and finally admitting they wandered off towards a group of gypsy's. Jack wasn't too happy with them and gave them an earful; it was nice to have someone else getting yelled at for once. Mush and Blink had returned and entertained us easily with dreams of what this party would do for Blink in his attempts at getting a girl. I didn't have to think as the voices rose in excitement, the climatic point of our walk here was when it came into sight.

Smirking, I wanted to mock them in their joy but I was involved with their adrenaline and my own emotions were bombarded with their excitement. I couldn't help but smile eagerly and stand on tip toes, craning my neck for a glimpse of our final destination.

Familiarity is a strange fantasy. It is what can bring you home in blindness or it can drive you away. Just when you least suspect it can stop your world from spinning and can disintegrate your inner defenses. Familiarity is a curse when every desire begs for memories of unfamiliarity.

A/N- Finished with another chapter! Hope anybody who read this enjoyed it and I hope you guys take the time out of your busy life to review, it means the world to me. Any crtiques and I'd loved to hear them. Any suggestions or commentstoo. So, thank you again for reading it and sorry it took me so long to update.

Shoutouts!

Dreamer Conlon- thank you for reviewing again, its greatly appreciated. There will be more about Lily and the connections to the death very soon. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter. You can review to tell me what you think (hint hint). Anyway, again, thank you for reviewing the other chapter.

RaincoatSammy- Huzza, new reviewer! Thank you so much for reviewing, its why I keep posting this up here and thank you for enjoying this. I love your username by the way. Hope you liked this chapter and please review if you want.

Emba- yay, another new reviewer! yeah, Spot pisses me off too in this but I had to establish what everybody sees. Pretty soon she'll see more and don't worry, he will show a softer side and soon.Well, I hope youliked this chapter and continue to review.


	11. Chapter 11: Cheap Gin's like cabbage

**A/N-** I'm back horror film music. Sorry I haven't been able to update in forever and a day. Schools been crazy. I wrote about twenty other pages to this chapter but hated it and changed it all around, saving stuff for later. So yeah, thank you for reviewing and I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I worked hard on it.

**Disclaimer-** Disney owns the newsies and I own anything unfamiliar. Disney owns the flipping world.

Heart stop.

There was no train track to an escape for breathless air, left here on this concrete prison staring at everything I couldn't go back to. The frame was picturesque; those few steps leading back to the world I would soon come back to but had left behind, the vivid image exactly how I had left it. That alley took me into an uncomfortable shelter and in those bricks would be a tiny cellar door, only able to be found if you knew where it was. I couldn't see it from here, but it was there…it always was.

Steps away was my savior and my demise- it had sheltered me from the cruel streets but had stolen a society I no longer knew. I never wanted to know it, but life was impossible without it. It was where I had retired after every endless day, it was where I ran to and it held me in a mother's embrace. Never did that furnace room turn me away; for four years I never suffered what it was to feel the real world except in memories I tried to forget. I had brought the fight for numbness on myself but it damn well helped.

My loathing was for those walls below us heated artificially, sheltering me from any life. I had thought of that room for the days I had been here as my return when it did nothing but give me a cheap outlet. I didn't want to go back I now realized. I couldn't go back, not to the life I lived. I hardly knew anything else. I had been a newsie for a few days and knew nothing about their world. But I had seen something else besides the life I lived and I couldn't go back. But I didn't have a choice; I wouldn't be controlled by anybody, my pride wouldn't suffer because I admitted defeat to Micah, and never will I rely on anybody but myself. I already was too much.

Resuscitation came in the form of Camelot's nudge to my ribs. I looked at her blankly, absorbing her worried expression and I nearly kicked myself with being so obvious with my emotions. I would forget that furnace room tonight. I couldn't afford not to be on my guard and that shelter brought every defense crumbling.

"Ya goily's coming?" Mush tossed over his shoulder and I smirked, the only way I could defend myself against an attack- whether it was from an inanimate thing or not.

"Of course. We'se got dog food to annoy," I reminded him saucily, grabbing Camelot's arm and dragging her with me as we pushed ahead of the boys, unwilling to be outdone. Looking over my shoulder I stuck my tongue out at them, but really to that alley where my life had been for the past four years. It was challenging me, daring I couldn't survive without it. Well I'd sure as hell prove it wrong.

"Dog food?" Camelot laughed, her eyes lighting with mischief. "Can I use dat?"

"I'd be honored," I chuckled, mock bowing. I hadn't forgotten my little conversation with the infamous Jack Kelly and his warnings but it wouldn't hurt if I had his little sister do my dirty work. At least until he confronts me, as Jack said he wouldn't be able to stay away.

"So dis is Medda's?" I recalled as we were shoved through the crowd of rambunctious newsboys, hearing crude things on our way. I had never really seen the outside of where I had lived, never really cared to, but I was stunned into silence as we finally arrived outside. Brilliant and vivid lights lit the building like a jack-o-lantern, repelling the night for the forgetfulness inside only a theater can produce. Light bulbs outlined the golden etched name of this place, Irving Hall, above it a picture depicting just who traveled through this domain. 'Medda the Swedish Meadowlark, at this theater only'. She was the portrait of seductiveness upon a satin pillow, purple adorning her and legs crossed to draw testosterone driven young men crawling through these doors. She was not in her prime and not as young as she once was but despite that I heard catcalls directed towards the inanimate picture, the boys drooling over the redhead.

"My, oh my, is dat a wrinkle?" I caviled in a southern belle's innocent tone that only earned me Blink's sharp look. It was petty of me to criticize this woman but I could not control it so before told to do so I silenced myself, studying the picture silently as the rest of the boys joined us, pushing to get through the crowded door.

"Dere must be plenty of younger goil's heah dat give easy," I condescended, chuckling as I elbowed past a boy showing early symptoms of drunkenness. I was a dog doing tricks and hoping for approval, looking towards Camelot to see if I could find an ally in my quips.

"Don't expect me to throw ya a bone," she scoffed, nodding reservedly to some unnamed boy who called her name. Keeping her back to me she replied to my glare, "Wise up. Medda's always kept us out of da rain and away from da bulls. She's been an aunt ta every one of us. Sure, da boys find her attractive. If ya keep insulting her you'll find yerself very uncomfortable heah."

"It's hard for me to read minds, Camelot," I returned defensively and her stance softened slightly. I regretted saying anything about this Medda the Swedish Meadowlark to offend my companions but the blame couldn't pinpoint me when I knew no different than assumptions.

"Live and learn, kid," she said like a mantra. "And remember, dose 'younger goils dat give easy' I know. Be careful wad ya say tonight, Venice. Yer doe-eyed to our woild and dere are oddah boroughs heah who won't take as kindly to it as we do."

Her warning served better than a black eye would but both carried the same message, advice I was glad I received from her and not one of the other boy's and especially not Jack. I was not her equal even if I had age on her but at least I could heed her warnings and not send them to hell in a hand basket as lectures, like I would with Jack. Mock-saluting her I accepted this as the truth, attempting to ignore any insults only I heard. In my head I had to tell myself she wasn't saying I didn't belong here as Snitch not so subtlety put nor that I was a milksop. Then I had to believe it. The furnace room was calling my name but I would not answer, it was too soon to judge that I wouldn't be able to survive here.

Surviving here was not as simplistic as my mind manipulated me to believe. It required nothing more but to wake up before the sun rose, sweat in labor that wasn't too backbreaking but for only a penny a paper, save enough money for food to keep me going and for the rent, to respect Jack and conform to their life, and to avoid Spot. There was nothing mind shattering about that, a daily routine that life should be. But living it was harder. Respecting Jack shouldn't be hard but I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Avoiding the authority shouldn't be hard but it was. Avoiding social infringements should be easy enough but just now I had broken the standards. And avoiding Spot…that was the hardest of all. Despite whatever anybody thought I had no real feelings for him, and I had to prove that. He was the pebble in my shoe. Yet he thought nothing of me but a whore and I would not let him continue degrading my name without giving him hell.

"Let's get inside before dey get da best liquor," Racetrack advised, chewing on his stogie joyfully. Addictions were pretty funny when it wasn't you. Still, my throat burned for the whiskey that would enflame it and I thirsted for any alcohol at all, no matter how cheap. I wasn't an alcoholic by a long shot, but the drink was a friend who hadn't visited me in a while. I needed the familiar buzz, to feel on top of the world, to stop my heart pounding so hard. It was the adrenaline before a fight. Now the fight wasn't just between Spot and I and just to avoid him. It had hit a nerve much deeper. A nerve that touched my good name that wasn't so good but they didn't know that. I had to be ready for whatever was thrown at me after Snitch's little display, a display whether he knew it or not that had brought everything out in the open. There was a hidden hostility from the Manhattan boys and with alcohol in their hands I didn't know how they'd act.

"Brussel sprouts," Camelot averred distastefully and my eyebrow shot up, a superior smirk I hated on my own mouth.

"Lima beans," Mush protested adamantly with an equally disgusted look.

"We had dis fight a few months ago," Blink explained tiredly. "Bout wad rotten vegetable da cheap gin tastes like. Don't boddah trying it, you'll nevah know."

"Cream of Spot," I smirked, vividly imagining Spot Conlon in a bottle apologizing and screaming as I drank him down. I was beginning to become very familiar with the look someone gave a crazy person.

"Aw, ya wanna just drink me bruddah up," Camelot giggled in a cutesy voice, clapping her hands together excitedly. She knew what I meant, only chose to be the sadistic aunt pinching a child's cheeks instead. But I played along to skip a lecture from the boys, giggling and fanning myself. I couldn't think of the very thought of Spot without fainting. Oh my oh my.

"Me too!" Racetrack giggled girlishly, jumping up and down before instantaneously stopping to give us a good glare. It wasn't as hard as it should be to imagine Racetrack wearing a corset and gossiping about boys. I pitied those females who were bound to corsets, their breathing trapped. They would be lying on the ground right now passed out. Survival of the fittest; and it was the poor who were the fittest. Or maybe it was a materialistic way to show caring about image so much it harmed you was just death in the end.

In his silence I heard Kid Blink's exasperation. Here, on the outside looking in, it was a holocaust, the people congregated together like furry little lemmings. The air was even more polluted than usual with cigarette smoke and in the compression of bodies it was becoming startling hard to breathe. Sensing his patience wearing thin Racetrack took the steps through the crowd to finally get through the door, knowing we would follow without question. And we did.

The door clanged behind us with a quiet finality. A soothing finality if there was such a thing. There was no going back now and we were no longer on Manhattan soil- Medda's was in Manhattan but tonight it was Spot's. That startled me more than I thought it could; my heart was sent pounding as the vulnerability of playing by his game on his territory finally hit me. My promise could go to hell; I'd be damned if I didn't play with everything I had.

As soon as we stepped on Spot's territory a barricade had invisibly been formed, Blink and Racetrack attached to my side. I stood in between them not knowing quite what to do with myself, just trying to make me look everything but what I was feeling. Desperately I forced a collected, even arrogant look, to settle any turmoil from being 'startled'. Truth- I was down right scared.

"Dis place has got some memories," Blink whispered with a low whistle, and I felt him looking around, everywhere ringing with the ghosts I did not see. This was probably the first time I didn't care that I was an outsider, too distracted with loathing most of these boys here. It was more dispersed in here but just as loud and just as energized, the building itself seeming to vibrate with life. The noise would be unbearable to those who weren't used to it but day in and day out I was surrounded by boys and the streets and I had learned to enjoy the hypnotism of it.

I couldn't keep selectively blinded forever and yanked myself out of my thoughts, wanting to see where they had spent so much of their time just feet above me for four years. I heard the building and I felt it, but it was just as beautiful. Nothing like the cliché theaters I read of in books. It was nothing like I had imagined, nothing like rats crawling with disease and holes in the wood with chandeliers falling, nor was it the elegance of a theater for the crème de le crème, the elite of the elite, where no smudge of reality was found. But it was gorgeous. It was the most gorgeous, not only the only, Vaudeville Theater I'd ever seen. Ornate carvings decorated the walls and banisters, red curtains obscuring a stage towards the back of the room, tables casually arranged throughout the floor with abundant empty space left for dancing shoes. The lights were the only electric I'd ever seen and I wanted to get close enough to see them, but I wouldn't be thought stranger than I was already. It was enough to save it to memory like a photograph so years later I can take it out and remember this, remember every inch of the organized chaos, its beauty, and the life I never felt. People were good for that. Not suits and skirts, but kids of the streets who saw the sunrise and had their face bashed into the cobblestone in a street fight, people who really knew what it was to be alive. I had spent so much of my time trying to forget life nearly brought tears to my eyes but I choked them back- I would not be weak, I would not let emotions control me. This place made me feel not so empty, not to so dead, not so alone.

"It's brilliant," I croaked, the lights falling through every inch of these four walls and floor, consuming us all.

"It's weird," Camelot sighed and turning my head I saw the boys had left her in the same situation, Racetrack against one side and Mush on the other. Like they could protect us from whatever they feared. It didn't anger me like it should have; I didn't know where my short temper was right now. Somehow I was almost grateful they cared. "It feels like dis place didn't exist before we found it. But it was heah, it always has been since before I can membah."

"Which ain't very far," Mush added philosophically and I wanted to tune them out, but again I did not care I was the outsider. I was almost mesmerized by what they said, almost felt the ghosts of memories brushing my skin. "Spot and Jack probably dragged ya heah when you'se was a baby. I was eight. But I know wad ya mean, even if I remember life before eight I don't remember a life widout Medda's."

"Dat must be nice," I said quietly; I didn't know what I was saying, I didn't know I was saying anything. It was not my voice but a stranger's voice- the memory of a voice of what was, that died before it ever really lived. "To be part of something."

I hadn't meant to say what I had, I hadn't even heard myself saying it, but there it was said when I didn't even understand it. It left a strange dryness in my mouth and I felt hollow and empty, some secret divulged I had kept so long it had become part of me. But it had no meaning to me, it was just my nonsense and the newsies could not react to it but in awkward silence and averted gazes. "I need a drink."

"Not too much," Blink cautioned and I couldn't differentiate between sincere advice and an order, but I didn't care- I probably wouldn't listen to the advice and I would rebel to an order. I rarely got drunk, I could handle my drink. I could go through bottles without getting too tipsy but right now I truly needed that drink, if just for something to do with myself.

After a few paces I stopped and berated myself for how stupid I seemed right now, an awkward kid who couldn't socially act right. I had absolutely no idea where I was going. "Weah might I find dis drink?"

"Ya could take it from someone's hand and risk getting soaked, or ya could find it at dat back wall. It's almost always dere," Camelot casually pointed out and I nodded without ever looking behind me and took off at a purposeful stride. For once I knew where I was going and I always got there. I did not see red like the cliché blindness of anger, but I didn't see anything, I didn't see darkness or my thoughts. I was just blind to everything around me and didn't feel my legs moving to the beat of intense thoughts I didn't know what were. I didn't even shove my way through the crowd as Blink was doing to keep pace with me, I'd walk straight at them until they moved. I heard few shouts and threats, maybe from the others behind me, but maybe from my darkly intense scowl. I had practiced intimidation and fear, but now it was natural.

"Before ya walk right inta it," Mush explained, putting a staying hand on my shoulder. I knew I wouldn't have even though I was still walking and the table was feet away, I could always tell. Shrugging his hand away I dived for the first bottle I saw, some coarse and dark liquid I didn't bother smelling first and snatched up a cup, pouring generously. Rising it to my lips I chugged it without thinking. The harsh alcohol burned my throat and my eyes watered. Whiskey. Perfect.

"Goils shouldn't drink. Dats why I knew I'd found ya heah," a shrewd voice pierced the emptiness of my heart. The hand I held the whiskey with trembled. Like those who've just been fatally shot or stabbed, those in their last few seconds of life as they look down at their bloody gash and smile, I smiled. For Camelot's hand quickly retreating from grabbing the whiskey bottle and for everything I shouldn't be smiling for. I knew he didn't see her though, luckily for her he was too preoccupied in his kill. Like my kill had been Snitch his kill was me.

"Been lookin fer me?" I nonchalantly inquired, not turning to look at him and keeping the surprise I didn't have from my voice. I knew he'd be along, just like Jack said he had to finish what he had started. My heart beat quickened and I could only tell myself it was from adrenaline. Silently I heard myself saying to forget fear, forget the control he had over me and like all else it would fade. Except this was no memory. This was all too real.

"Yer surprised?" he retorted smoothly, arrogantly. I didn't know how he did that, made himself so superior I felt stupid no matter what was said. Regaining strength I ignored the beating of my heart and the nausea that nearly brought me swaying.

"Not really," I remarked coldly, turning with an emotionless but superior look. I was a master of disguise, but so was he, and he was a master of breaking them.

"I didn't think you'd show," Spot said honestly, but in his honesty was the manipulation only his steely eyes revealed. It was an attack nobody but I heard, nobody but I could understand, that could only get under my skin and make its ugly home there.

"Really? I thought you were irresistible," I smirked cockily, looking him up and down with a forced disdain. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his carved biceps, his golden hair wild, the dangerous look in his eye more sexual than I had cared to remember. My heart was sent a pounding again as I tried to quell it. Here, now, playing by his rules he was the golden king of cliché romance novels. I wanted those arms to hold me; I wanted to know if I would feel as safe as I thought in his protective embrace. If just for one night…but I shook away the thought, swearing myself up and down.

"I am," he whispered seductively, and I wouldn't be surprised if he started kissing himself in appreciation. His face was expressionless, cold, except for that arrogant smirk of his and the way his eyes danced here in the dimmest light. He was everything I had thought I'd want nothing to do with, everything I'd punch right in the face, but here I was still not moving, not saying a word. I couldn't even tear my eyes away.

"Stop listening to wad yer muddah said, its bull. Yer bull," I retorted coolly, turning back to my drink and trying to ignore the beating of my heart. I saw his nostrils flaring but he gave no other indication he heard what I had said.

"Me mam died when I was nine," he said easily and I took in a deep steadying breath to stop myself from apologizing. I knew the game he played; I knew he was just trying to throw me off balance. Still, I was surprised at how easily he shared this with a stranger. His confidence only made me hate him more.

"Cabbage," I whimpered, taking a swig of an abandoned cup of gin they couldn't be smart enough to poison. Just for something to do I took another sip, not knowing how to respond to Spot. "Cabbage."

"I still say its brussel sprouts," Camelot replied adamantly and I nearly jumped. I had forgotten they were still behind me. But there they were not interrupting my little confrontation with Spotty.

Nothing could force me cowering beneath his piercing eyes and nothing could send me running in disguise, for cowardice was something I'd beat into the ground. Yet now I would not be the coward to turn my back on him. It would be a direct insult, and I couldn't react any other way. "Let's go find somebody interesting."

"Ya saying I ain't interesting, Venice?" Spot growled and I nearly grinned with triumph but contained myself…barely. Maybe if I'd just turned and walked away right then he would've let me well enough alone, if only because of the others irate looks. Yet my actions never corresponded with what I thought.

"For all your strength, men are sometimes like little children," I orated, calmly looking him in the eye as I set my drink down, not wanting to bring it into this. I was the matter of disguise now as his expression became deathly still in shock and anger, while I pulled on a mask of everything I didn't feel. Confidently I watched him with a cold smirk I had seen him use time and time again, trying to silence the turbulence I felt. Trying to disregard how quickly his eyes flashed from the warning blue to a steely gray.

"Don't make me hit ya," he hissed as his golden hair fell into one eye. It was what kept me still and standing, my own vulnerability used as my only defense to his threatening step forward. I shouldn't be thinking of how perfectly his hair fell into his eye or how the top buttons on his shirt were opened seductively. My heart should be beating out of fear he had no honor, not from how the light bounced off him.

A glass broke far away, and I clawed myself back to the present, right here right now when I needed to save face. I sneered as I looked him up and down, eyes traveling quickly in a silent attack to his size. "Ya think ya could?"

"I know it," he said quietly, huskily, as he took another step towards me. His hand curled around my wrist as he looked down at me hungrily, his eyes telling me he knew just what affect this had on me, just how badly my knees were shaking, and just how much I wanted to keep my hand there, with shivers running through it like a ghost was after them, forever. The stupid asshole never missed a thing. He drew me closer to him and I felt like I had floated there, our bodies inches apart, but I no longer saw him. I saw Snitch teaching me my place, humiliating me. I saw Snitch telling me I didn't belong. I saw Snitch.

"Touch me again Conlon and I'll hoit yer manhood," I threatened, yanking my wrist out of his grasp. He had been supporting me and I didn't know, stumbling back, loosing my balance and falling. Falling. Falling for everything I did not understand. Falling in reality as I fell to the ground. Falling forever.

Harshly I was yanked to my feet and I grimaced as a tendon in my arm was probably torn. But I was safe upon my own two feet, Mush still holding my arm upright for fear I would faint as I had done what felt years ago but was only two days before.

"Yer lucky yer a goil…" Spot snarled, but I too did not miss a thing, saw his eyes trace over me worriedly. So the ounce of humanity he had was not entirely consumed by his arrogance yet.

"Lets have some new clichés," I snapped, looking him dead in the eye before I whirled on my heel and took off into a crowd I now saw, now pushed out of my way when they couldn't move fast enough against my furious stride. I heard the boys shouting after me and I even thought I heard Camelot shouting wildly at her brother, but I was too absorbed in loathing Spot Conlon to bother with anything else. I took off through the theater, wandering to the furthest wall away, but I couldn't stop there, taking off again. It took me just minutes to walk everywhere there was to go and finally I stopped. Leaning against a wall I caught my breath. Breath not stolen from walking.

**A/N**- again, done with another chapter. I think the plot thickens in the next chapter. And maybe we'll see a softer side to Spot...but thank you to anybody who read this and I sincerely hope you at least mildly liked it...or just didn't gorge your eyes out while reading it. I hope you review, please, it keeps me writing this.

**Shoutouts!**

**Raincoat Sammy-** It makes me so happy when someone enjoys this, and thank you for reviewing. i hope i didn't butcher the story and i hope you continue to read this. feel free to critique and say whatever you want. hmmm...don't know what else to say but i hope you continue reading this and enjoying it.

**Emba**- thank you so much for reviewing again. Spots a jerk in this chapter, but he'll get better soon, or as better as that little arrogant cane carrying wannabe king can get. i'm pretty sure the party is gonna get better for her, haven't exactly written much of it yet but with alcohol everything can be fun! lol. but again, thank you for reviewing and i hope you continue to do so and enjoy this.

**Chill92**- I'm super glad you like it. thank you for reviewing.I hope you liked this chapter as well.

**Conlonsgirl-**Thank you so much for your review! you have no idea how much its appreciated that you like this and that you left what you like in the story in your review...wait, did that make sense? i'm tired without coffee, sorry.I'm not sure how this chapter turned out and if I strayed from making this as realistic as possible, would love your feedback. I'm trying to keep her as human as possible but also the tough girl trying to be emotionless. Spots so much fun to write. ah, it'd be hard seeing a guy on the street like him.lol. he seems to have a lot going on with him that we don't see in the movie. so yeah, sorry if i'm boring you. again thank you so much for your review and thank you for enjoying this, i hope you continue to do so(wow that sounds formal).


	12. Chapter 12: Hysteria turned upside down

**A/N-** BOO! oooh, scary. okay, new chapter. feh, the last chapter sucked. well...yeah. hopefully i'll have the next chapter up sometime next week. Finals are the week after shudder. also, will someone tell me what they think of the new summary.

**Disclaimer-** Obviously, I am not Disney and I do not own the newsies.

These strangers' soft smiles broke the sacred rules they did not know, a distant law as far from them as the dawn was to me. Their ginning faces and joyful voices did not know of the mausoleum I was enclosed to. That I had locked myself inside. It was a marble tomb of poisoned silence, a trap, a cage, that I had forced myself inside unintentionally but purposefully. I thought I didn't want this, didn't need this dehumanization, but I was so wrong. I needed it to survive. Truth was I really am not that strong. I can't live with emotion and still think straight, I can not have the power to fight back if I succumb to the ethereal.

A tomb was for the dead, and dead I wanted to be while still living. Every moment was a contradiction, every second my mind changed; just half an hour ago all I wanted was to escape that fight for numbness. Now I wasn't so sure I wanted to feel at all.

I was becoming the person I despised, a person who let her emotions rule her, control her, give her doubts about her strength and independence and throw her into a catastrophic confusion when she didn't even know what she was so confused about. If I wasn't careful the damage could be permanent. That was a death sentence, not the one I was condemning to myself. It was the only reason I fought Jack, why a captivating pair of bluish gray eyes brought out the worst in me and brought these tears to my eyes, why I always ran. I had never run from anything before. And I hated it.

I did not want to run anymore, didn't want to escape when things became too much, because running is a sign of weakness. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to see the blood on my hands that would never wash off. I didn't want to live by regrets and I didn't want to live in fear. That was all we lived in. Fear. Fear of death and fear of life- I didn't know which one was more powerful.

"Dammit Venice, don't ya know not ta run away from us," Blink growled and the sinking sensation of helplessness only kept me grounded to my twitch of surprise. I hadn't heard him storm through the crowd and hadn't seen his shadow fall across me but now I saw his light blue eye flashing venomously.

"I got contagious," I insinuated, bringing the harsh cup of whiskey to my lips. I toasted to their confused looks.

"Wad da hells dat supposed ta mean?" Blink shouted, throwing his arms up in despair. I almost pitied him, but it was much more entertaining watching Mush try to quiet him. Ah, the all American family. Notice the husband raging after every little thing as the dominant female, Mush in an apron, attempts to silence him. "Will ya tawk right?"

"I don't know Colonel, shall we?" I provoked, turning to someone not even I saw. "He says if I find a spider you'll kill it."

"Venice! Lani wad da hell is yer last name? Okay, it's Lani, just Lani. Please, wad are ya tawkin bout? If anybody else hoid ya you'd be out of heah before ya can plead da fifth," Mush implored, his desperate puppy dog eyes begging me to just make sense. How could I when he didn't even make sense with all his talk about 'pleading the fifth'? I didn't know if that was possible, even I had no idea what was coming out of my mouth. 'Okay, little elf, I said I wanted to be emotionless, not insane.'

"Wad elf?" Mush asked sympathetically but I saw past the shield he was protecting me with, how sane he thought me to be. His worry and Blinks rage were beginning to discomfort me.

"Did I really say dat out loud or can ya read minds?" I asked him seriously, taking just one more swig of whiskey to calm my nerves. "Dere is an elf in yer head. Ya get sick when it dies until its offspring takes ovah. It controls everything ya say."

"Venny, where'd ya get da whiskey from, honey," Mush consoled, trying to take my alcohol from me but I kept it out of his reach.

"Da whiskey fairy." Well it was true enough, without the tutu and the whole fairy part. I had snatched it from the side of a distracted man, his lips glued to a blonde haired savior to my alcohol need. Boosting myself to my feet the same wall I had caught my breath on moments before trapped me, Blink and Mush cornering me, so I could not escape if only to save my beloved whiskey. Holding it above their heads did not work as well as it would if I was actually taller than them and as Blink caught my wrist, with my other hand I hid my cup behind my back. "Ven, give it to me now."

"Ya know, everything would be okay if I was actually drunk. The amazing part is I'm not. See, two cups of whiskey plus some cabbage gin does absolutely nothing ta me," I smirked the smile of a person who thought no harm could come to her, like she had finally won an impossible battle. I hated that there was no lie, that I was truly completely sober, with no familiar ring in my head and no strength only the rush of alcohol gave me.

"Ven, ya might be crazy but we ain't nevah hoid ya tawk like dis," Blink moaned, his voice softening like I had forgotten it could. I liked the sound of it and I did not want him to be angry with me like he had been living these days, I yearned for an approval I would never gain in their eyes. His worry was something I ignored. I was perfectly fine.

"Ain't Venice a city in Italy? Dats how I got me name. So tell me, do ya evah get it mixed up? Because I think yer da crazy one's if yer tawkin ta a city and expecting it to answer ya back," I pointed out with the logic that only made sense to somebody drunk- well, not quite drunk but acting like it.

"Nah, Ven, its pretty easy ta separate you from anything," Blink muttered and I cocked my head to the side as if that could put the ruined puzzle pieces together, as if that could make everything fit into something resembling sense. Deeming it safe, judging the distance of their hands to my cup of love, I raised the whiskey hesitantly to my mouth and took a long sip. Closing my eyes I let the whiskey burn my throat, let it give me that familiar heat flash. I don't know why closing your eyes changed everything, but it obviously did something different because everybody did so. In any circumstance, in fear, pain, love, grief, or just in everyday life someone closed their eyes. Maybe it was to contain the emotions within them, build a wall between the outside world and them. But why would anybody want to feel? Maybe it was just a reflex we couldn't control.

I still felt their eyes carefully trained on me, still felt it with my eyes closed and my head tilted backwards. The alcohol was soothing to my jittery nerves, the only thing keeping me from responding immediately. That and the tears I blinked back, that I didn't even know had been there. My jittery nerves, a craziness that kept me on edge- I didn't realize how close I'd been to a complete breakdown. I hadn't felt the tears and that was most dangerous. I hadn't felt my defenses collapsing. I had had enough this night. I had felt too much. For all my talk of becoming emotionless I wasn't doing a very good job.

I felt sanity like a drug pulling me down, beginning to penetrate me again. I was enjoying the looks I had been getting, but it was only amusing to me. If I carried on I had no doubt the insane asylum would become my best friend. "Can I help you boys?"

"Wads wid ya tonight?" Mush sighed, his quiet tone almost making it less harsh than I heard it. "And wad did ya mean by wanting to be emotionless? In all yer ramblings about dat stupid elf."

"Nothing," I said quickly, too quickly to avoid their suspicious looks. "And careful, you'll make da elf angry. He knows wad ya did last summah."

"I ain't good at dis psychology stuff," Blink intervened before he could grow angry again at my insane ramblings- insane to him, but I heard only sanity. Sometimes insanity is the only solution to an insane world. "Any of dis touchy-feely stuff. We'se all been dere, wanting ta be stone, but…"

"So wad happened ta Camelot and Race?" I asked innocently, interrupting him, changing the subject swiftly and obviously. It didn't matter, if he tried to lecture me I'd just wander off. Take off even into the realm feet below us where the furnace kept me warm. I didn't want to run anymore my ass. Maybe I was sick of running, but I was sick of listening more. "Gypsy's get em?"

"Cam is trying ta stop Spot from tearing on aftah ya," Mush replied and I heard the scorn, the accusation, in his voice. I knew Spot wouldn't take kindly to his kid sister right now. Especially if she was stopping him from what he wanted, especially if she got in the way. I hadn't seen the Conlon's together much, Spot living in Brooklyn and Camelot in Manhattan for reasons I couldn't figure out, but the times, or time, I had seen them he had been ordering her around and snapping at her. From what I had seen he wasn't a good brother. I felt the heat rising in me, felt the color flushing my cheeks, felt the spark of anger like a match had been lit to gasoline. But maybe I was just looking for things to hold against him. She wouldn't be so loyal, so quick to defend him, if they were not close. It was impossible for me to imagine anybody being close to the ice of Spot.

"And Racetrack stayed wid her probably to make sure neither of dem got too angry," Blink added, casting a look behind them where we couldn't see. "If ya don't want to make someone angry its dose two."

"So I've noticed," I said dryly, beginning to feel the lax in entertainment since Spot was not around. I had almost anticipated fighting with him before but now I wanted nothing to do with him, did not want the emotions I had no control of. Unfortunately something told me that this would not be the last I saw from him tonight.

I already knew Medda wasn't intending on performing tonight. I had heard all the rumors in the bunkroom and the truth from Jack. Her staff had the night off, has had this night off ever since they started working for her. And she didn't want the attention tonight; she didn't want to be the showgirl they all saw her as when Spot had thrown this party. Sure, she'd come around to mingle, to see the newsies she had watched grow up but she was too tired to perform and too modest. Tonight everything would run around the newsies.

"Venice, why don't ya go join Jack. Introduce yerself ta his oddah friends," Blink advertised, gesturing towards the table within view now as the crowd shifted and I saw my holier than thou leader with his feet propped up on the table, cigarette in his hand as he animatedly told some anecdote. I quirked an eyebrow; they knew just as well that it wouldn't go over too well. Jack sure as hell didn't want me tagging along like a lost puppy and I doubted any of his chauvinistic friends would take to me too kindly either. Most men didn't seem to make friends with a girl except with their lips and hands, and for the moment I was germ phobic. At least from them.

"If yer trying ta get rid of me you'll have ta come up wid something bettah den dat." Despite their adamant protests I knew that's exactly what they were trying to do.

"Look kid, it ain't as if we don't want ya round. I just see Hope and don't want to make her feel uncomfortable wid new people," Mush argued but I saw straight through his half-truth.

"Ya mean she'll think yer cheating on her? And wads yer excuse, bucko?" I demanded, whirling on Kid Blink. It wasn't as if I minded being abandoned, or that I minded much, but they had sought me out only to leave me again. I had the right to know why.

"Hope's got a lady friend dat looks pretty interesting," Blink suggested with a casual shrug, and if I didn't know better I would think that the slightest trace of a blush was creeping dangerously into his cheeks. I grinned, winking, not even bothering to see where these two girls were.

"Run along den," I said, waving them off with my hand. I wasn't sure what to think of them abandoning me so quickly and I tried not to think about it- after all, it could be ruining their carefully protected reputations for associating with me. Who knows what kind of rumors were already circulating about my morals.

"We don't wanna leave ya alone," Mush responded sincerely and I rolled my eyes pointedly, giving him an incredulous look.

"If yer worried bout my safety den I'm honestly safer by myself den wid da savages," I replied truthfully as my comrades exchanged uncomfortable looks. Their awkwardness was as revealing as an open statement and I was sure Jack had ordered them to keep a tight eye on me, for my own safety or to keep me within his drawn lines I wasn't sure. I was almost growing used to this mistrust, this suspiciousness Jack seemed to have with me, and it didn't anger me like it should have. "Boys, I ain't gonna go poke a candle or nothing. I can even sit up by myself now."

"Well take a lot off our minds and go find Camelot and Racetrack," Blink suggested and I narrowed my eyes. I was more than capable of taking care of myself but his glare said they'd never be rid of me unless I complied.

"I'm toining right back round if they're still wid dog boy," I growled, tossing my head back and draining the whiskey, tossing it to the ground. The burn wasn't as pleasurable as I had imagined it, but it gave me the courage and the stamina I needed to take those steps within vision of the pebble in my shoe. I hadn't forgotten my promise to be emotionless, and this would only be a test of it. A test I was already failing. I felt the shiver running up my spine without his smoky eyes and heard his stale breathing in my ear. What was wrong with me tonight?

"Go," Mush advised, shoving me slightly in the direction where we had left them. Scowling behind me I casually sauntered away, purposefully loosing myself in the crowd and blinding their sights of me. I had never intended to rejoin the two of them, I wasn't about to risk another encounter with Spot so soon until I had regained the precious control that was so precarious. The door was within sights and its fresh air was alluring enough so I veered and craved the freedom I did not have here. Pausing at the door I carefully looked over my shoulder, assuring that nobody was watching. I knew they wouldn't be too happy with me if I stole off into the night, even for a few minutes. Minutes I needed to regain some control.

Through the door the icy air nipped me sharply and it would've been wise just to turn back around, having left Hope's jacket back at the lodging house. The gooseflesh erupted painfully upon my arms and neck and I ran a hand along it. I had forgotten how it felt. Gooseflesh from actual cool weather, not from Spot and all his troubles. Somehow it seemed colder now.

I didn't turn back around as I pushed my way through the light wind that was pushing me further away. I could leave this place now. All I had to do was pick up my feet and run. I could be to Grand Central Station and leave this place and all its cruelty, the concrete prairie I was chained to, in an hour. With one hour I could throw fifteen years of sweat and blood and tears away. But something stayed my feet. It wasn't the worry they'd believe I was dead for all the enemies I had made, they'd only forget and they'd only forget about me in weeks. It wasn't as if I thought things would magically get better and the grey skies would clear, and if I was waiting for something life altering to happen I needed to pull my head out of a fairytale's butt. But I couldn't leave, not yet anyway. Only when I was absolutely ready, only when nothing was holding me back and that something I didn't know so I had no chance to conquer it. In my heart I knew I wasn't ready to leave yet.

Damn, I needed a smoke. For all my crazy talk about a 'heart' I was only hurting myself, I was only drawing me further away from numbness. Numbness I was beginning to feel as the shivering stopped. It was bad that my limbs were numb, yes, and it was bad I didn't have a cigarette, a bigger yes, but I wasn't ready to go back in. I could only keep walking blindly wherever the wind took me.

It was unwise of me to be wandering very far in the blind darkness but I did not fear the dark and I did not fear whatever lay in its shadows, the unknown. The unknown could only be feared by those who cared enough to fear. I did not. I can't remember a time I ever did. Death did not frighten me, it's only been engraved in our culture to fear it but I embraced it. In a stereotypical sense I was not suicidal. I just didn't care anymore.

Voices mingled with the wind and painted its colors, so soft and so harsh I mistook it for the wind's whistle. It was only the sound of a hoarse cough that brought me halting. A street lamp silhouetted the shadows that fell ominously across the street, a deep alley the source of its power. As stealthily as I could I pressed into a crooked doorway, silently listening to voices I knew were there.

"...ain't a coward," a rough voice ended lamely, proudly but there was anxiety in the edge to his voice. I was learning to depict the emotions of a person in their voice.

"Nah, Chancellor, if I thought you was a coward we wouldn't be having dis liddle chat," a harsh voice said charmingly.

"No," Chancellor quietly admitted, the edge of panic reverberating in his tone. The low whistle of a blade removed from its sheath pierced through the silent night and I almost heard his perspiration. I sunk further into the door frame.

"No," he repeated with the hint of a sadistic smile. "You membah ole' Wolfsbane. Roight, ya was right beside me when Bruce fell. Now tell me, was Bruce a traitor?"

"Yes, but I ain't," Chancellor pleaded. "Genghis, ya know I ain't nothing but loyal to ya…"

"Shut up," Genghis hissed and a whimper of pain resounded, the drip drip drip of blood spilling onto the ground. "Den ya listen da next time I give an order. Ya was supposed ta attack tonight."

"It ain't too late…"

"Wrong again," he snapped. "We can't do nothing bout it now, I'se sure Conlon's little boidies have run off dere mouths by now."

My blood ran cold. Something hazy clouded my audacity, something sent my head ferociously pounding as my knees began to shake.

"Yer blood's da cost of yer fuck up," Genghis snarled, disappointed and distasteful. "If ya didn't get Cap's boy dis morning I would've killed ya, heah? But dis is da last time. One right don't equal one wrong."

"I'll get dem soon, Genghis, I swear by it. Its just dat damn goil. She's round heah now. Seems when we got Oscar and Morris ta drop her da newsies picked her right back up," Chancellor whined, the pain he felt dimly reflected in his voice. A mist blinded me for all I couldn't know and the screaming heat flashes fought my chest contracting painfully, but I couldn't turn away. Hypnotized; his voice lured me in like the sirens of myth lore. The sense I had left kept me grasping the door so I wouldn't crash into the rocks. "Lemme just do away wid her, we can manage…"

"No! Ya know we need her foist. And she ain't stopping ya from doing nothing, stop looking fer excuses, take da blame like da woim ya are," he snapped, his voice growing louder. Inside my head he roared like a thousand voices. Bating my breath the doorframe supported me weakly, my shaking legs having a mind of their own.

"We've gotta be getting back, let's go," Genghis ordered, the voices pounding insanely in my head. Their shadows grew larger as I didn't have the sense to crawl inside the door, wherever it was. Wherever it was was safer. I was frozen, my heart raging as their footsteps pounded a rhythm on the cobblestone. Suddenly the drip drip drip of blood became sickeningly real.

They stood feet away, the mysteries that haunted my nightmares, and the unknown that I hadn't known I'd feared. In the dim light of the moon I saw the scarlet droplets littering the ground, saw the rays directing towards where the blood flowed form his arm. The gash was deep, the skin rising like a barricade around it as it reddened with infection. I didn't want to look but my eyes were drawn towards the rich darker color flowing freely. His blood-stained hand sagged uselessly along next to him as he trailed ahead like he feared to be whipped. His locks of white-blonde hair, his shocking blue eyes, were all I could see before the master came along.

Eyes as dark as coal, eyes as emotionless as ice, and eyes as haunting as that which haunted my very dreams penetrated me like a knife wound. I got cold all over. Following his blonde counterpart he did not see him, did not see anything of this world, of this time. His eyes were as dark as the scar that curled around his right, as dark as the hair that was tied behind him. As sharp as his finely chiseled features. As tight as the shredded shirt he wore. They twisted painfully, sharply, as my head roared to an unbearable pounding.

Just as quickly as it had begun it had stopped and I was left with the dull thudding of a wound long past. Like my head had exploded and rushed to be put together, with some pieces not quite fitting. Shakily I clung to the doorway, watching their receding backs, not knowing how they hadn't seen me as they passed.

The chilling wind whirled around me carrying dried and fallen leaves but I did not feel as one brushed against my leg, I dig not feel the wind ripping through my light clothes. Enough of this blood thirst. Was my sister not replenishing enough to the monsters that were coming down the hall out of alleys? Fear was a tricky thing, just when I thought it couldn't touch me it bit me sharply. I was cold all over. I was lost and frozen, standing immobile in the doorway, watching the figures that had already receded, almost vanishing in thin air.

Inhaling deeply I stepped from my haven and looked nervously around for the signs of them, but their footprints had vanished like they themselves had. I took another step, the icy fear evaporating with the fire that blinded me. Angrily I took another step, the heat rushing to my head, making me lightheaded. I wanted to find them. I wanted to shove their faces into the mud and demand what they wanted with Spot, scare them from attacking anybody. I wanted to drill into their heads that I would not be manipulated to be used in anything, I'd rather choose death. I wanted the answers to the inquiries I hadn't made, I wanted the cure to the disease.

"Nice night," a dry voice sent tremors through me and I had nothing to steady me, had nothing to save me from the red that was blinding me. If only I did not hear that voice.

"Go to hell, Spot," I growled, pressing steps ahead shakily. I wasn't sure if I was looking for them or going back towards Medda's, now all I wanted was to get away from him. I almost told him right then what I had heard from Genghis but I couldn't face him.

"Dey kicked me out," he replied with that smirk I loved to hate; I knew it was there even if I did not turn around. He was purposefully stepping on my heels now.

"Ya know, hot on yer heels is just an expression," I said angrily, spinning on my heel with my hand raised but he caught my fist in the palm of his hand. All I could see was our hands, his gently closing around my raised fist, unable not to caress the fingers that should be punishing him. The heat banished the chill that was biting through me as a melting nausea had my eyes struggle to close but I would not let them, wouldn't let him when this war. I hated this control he always had over me, hated how my promises to be emotionless were already useless. Emotionless was just not granted to me.

Weakly I looked back at him but did not see the arrogance in his steely eyes; the light blue was glimmering softly in the moonlight as he watched with no other sign of emotion. This was all in the game he played, but I didn't want to pull my hand away. Only telling myself this made me raise my other fist, trying to uppercut him, but he caught that too. Our fingers entwined as he pulled me closer and like I was floating I did nothing to stop him until we were pressed intimately against each other.

"Wad are ya doing out now, Venice?" he whispered sultrily, running his thumb against my hand. His golden hair was tousled sexily and his pouting lips screamed kiss me. "Ain't ya liking me party?"

"Not really," I replied honestly with an innocent smile. I had expected to anger him but he remained collected and cool, just an eyebrow raising, his eyes laughing. "Why ain't ya back in dere? Don't ya have enough people ta make bow?"

"Dere will always be dem," he shrugged, looking over me to where Medda's lay. Curiously I looked up at him, not wanting to pull away. I thought to anger him but he was not reacting how I needed to leave him, now I could not, not with this side I had never seen. I wanted to know what he was thinking I realized now as I looked up at the boy who'd tormented my shadow since I had gotten here. I wanted to be one of those few he trusted, who he loved, who saw more than what the surface portrayed. But I could never be.

"Da only one's interesting are dose who won't bow," he smiled sincerely, looking down at me significantly. My breath caught in my throat as my heart began beating wildly, falling lost in his eyes. I couldn't pull myself out and wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and give my heart only to him. The cane banging against him tethered me to the sense I had and I knew that could never be. He'd never return anything but sex, he'd spin lies and manipulation and leave my heart crushed in his palm. I knew this was all just a game to him. I was just another notch on his bedpost, just another challenge like every other stupid girl before me. Who threw themselves at his feet for him to break, for him to leave cold to the bone.

"Why? So ya can make dem? Ya disgust me, Spot, I nevah thought da mere sight of ya would make me wanna spew," I whispered, choking the tears back. I was shaken enough and didn't need this. My feelings for him ran real and deeper than just an infatuation and I knew if I let myself I would give him my heart. I didn't want his soft eyes and almost true smile.

"Swoon not spew," he corrected, a cocky smirk falling back into its traditional place and I forced myself to look away in revulsion. I felt him drop my hands and they hung lamely by my side. The bastard didn't know anything and knew everything, he had no idea how close he had come to loosing a newsie tonight and because I was here, because I threw them off track, they hadn't attacked. He knew nothing about what I was hiding from him. But he knew everything of what he was doing to me. I hated him for everything that ran through my head, I hated him for the reoccurring nightmares, and I hated him for the blood that would never go away. I hated him when I really hated myself. The truth was killing me, that I was nobody. That I was to be used and then thrown away, by everybody- my family, Genghis, and Spot.

"Lani?" he asked as I tried to hold my breath, to stop my furious shaking. I had been on the edge of hysteria earlier and now that familiar rush of emotions couldn't be controlled with insanity. I didn't want to deal with him and I looked sharply up. He almost looked worried; he almost was human enough to be confused.

I felt his fingers trace the salty tears spilling down my cheeks, wiping them away and I longed for his touch. Trembling I jerked my head away, wiping furiously at the tears I didn't know had been spilling. "Quit acting human, Spot."

"I'm sorry," he chuckled and I felt my heart darken with his laughter. Where is the arrogant boy I loathed, that I couldn't feel my emotions roaring because I was too obsessed with hating him? "I came out heah looking fer ya instead of letting Jack go. He looked mad enough ta hit ya. It wasn't wise ta let him see ya."

"I thought he couldn't," I said defensively, refusing to look anywhere but at the ground as we began the walk back to Medda's. "And aren't ya supposed ta be telling me I shouldn't be wandering off, not telling me not to get caught? Wads wrong wid ya right now?"

What was wrong with him tonight? His arrogance and the jackass I had come to know were faded dreams, and I wanted them to fade forever.

"Ya shouldn't be wandering off alone, Venice," he said furiously, stepping in front of me and crossing his arms. I had to look away to hide my smirk. That was the best Jack Kelly impression I had ever seen. I shouldn't be laughing, not at something Spot said, not at something at all.

"Ya shouldn't be wandering off alone, Venice," he said quietly and I looked up at him in surprise. He didn't look at me but he was serious, he was himself, and he wasn't yelling. If I didn't know better he almost sounded concerned.

"Is Spotty worried bout little ole' me," I teased, nudging him like we were the best of friends.

"No," he said quickly. "I just don't want ya stirring trouble."

"Sure," I laughed, winking saucily and skipping off ahead of him. I felt light, lightheaded, the tug of unreasonable happiness bringing a deep smile to my face. I knew he was watching me but I didn't care as I spun around in the wind, not minding the cold, courting the leaves blowing. Tilting my head up to the sky I smiled. For once I was happy to be alive.

"Wad are ya doing?" he cried and I laughed at his concern for my mental health. I was perfectly fine. It wasn't as if I had a reason to be happy but I couldn't help it, couldn't help the grin. Giggling (I didn't remember giggling in years) I spun circles around him, getting dizzy. "I'm getting dizzy from just watching ya."

"Yer insane," he said not unkindly, taking my hand in his. The chills and heat flashes that I had gotten fell to the grave, only a comforting warmness as our fingers entwined. I stopped in my giddiness, staring cautiously at our hands. They seemed to belong together like a puzzle with the final pieces long lost; they fit perfectly like they were meant to be there. The honesty in our touch was almost too much and I looked up at Spot, a soft smile playing on his face, a smile I had never seen. He twirled me in a circle as the shivers ricocheted off our bodies, so close I could feel his body heat. So close I could smell the perspiration, the stale cigarette smoke, and the newspaper ink- I never thought I could adore that smell before now.

Smiling softly as he finished twirling me he moved a step closer as I leaned towards him girlishly. Our hands still together he drew me closer to him tentatively, giving me seconds to pull away but those seconds I did not take. His arm snaked around my waist and I leaned closer to him, my heart pounding with what I knew was coming.

**A/N-** well, there we have it. ooooh, suspense...sorta. can someone tell mewhat they think of my summary? okay, thank you to anybody who reads this. and now i'm begging for reviews. i know they're obnoxious at times but I really need them at least to know if anybody's reading this. say anything you want. it doesn't have to be a good review. well, thank you again for reading this.

**Shoutouts**

**Raincoat Sammy**- thank you for reviewing and i'm so happy your keeping with this story. i'm trying to keep the tension there even while I'm attempting to make spot a bit more human, i hope i did that in this chapter. thank you again for reviewing and i hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Emba**- huzza, your continuing to review! she's really not drunk in this chapter shifty eyes where's some budwieser when you need it? lol. anway, i hope this chapter flowed and made sense, even if the whole venice spot scene is random. again, thank you so much for reviewing and i hope you liked this chapter.


	13. Chapter 13: The Fat Lady Hasn't Sung

**A/N-** war with computer. sorry for not updating in almost a month, been crazy with finals, end of school, and vacation. but school's over Huzza and hopefully I'll be updating more. if i don't get in another fight with my computer. loller.

Di**sclaimer- **Newsies is owned by the Disney corporation, the same corporation that controlled and regulated Tim Burton's creativity.

**Chapter Thirteen- The Fat Lady Hasn't Sung**

The magic of those dead leaves that swirled around us forged us connected, my ignorance bleeding from the thorns in his light blue eyes. The stars kissed his tousled blonde hair and the flame he was burned the coldness around me. My heart danced behind my lips for him but my skin crawled like the spirits of the dead were pulling me underwater. I couldn't think with my heart pounding a thousand times over in my ears, the passion of a moment pushing me to an edge right beside him where I thought I'd never be. I was as lost as a child in the rain and confused with what I felt and I looked in wondering desperation up at him, and found him staring straight at me, like he could see into my soul. Eyes shouldn't be anything more than organs but those dancing crystal blues held promises of endless pleasures and possibilities, a promise I'd never feel worthless again as long as he was with me.

His anticipation for what he had fought for came in quiet, rapid breaths, the breaths suffocating my heart with questions. He was everything I had ever thought him to be and nothing like I thought and nothing like I ever knew before, he was the key to an escape. He was more, he was alive, he made me feel alive and it hurt so much to resist this, to know how much I wanted to feel but couldn't. I couldn't be another notch on his bedpost and I wouldn't let myself be used, but this side of him that was so rare had stolen the boy I loathed. But I couldn't let myself get emotionally involved with someone like him. Some little unwanted voice echoed in my head. 'He shouldn't be involved with someone like you'. Someone like me.

"I'm not who you think I am," I choked back what I had never felt before. I knew the uncertainty in my eyes only kept him from kissing me now. He would not go for the prize unless it was promised to only him. "Dammit, dat sounds so nauseating."

"I'm not thinking on anything," he seduced with a smirk that could kill the most headstrong and I tried so hard to refuse this. This was a side of him that I'd never seen.

"Spot," I pleaded, trying to look anywhere but at him, trying to end everything I felt like not looking at him would help. But I felt him all around me. I was so close to telling him everything, telling him I'm not really Lani, or Venice, but Lisolette, a girl who knew nothing of the real world and who the newsies wanted dead. A girl who'd disappear in a week. This was impersonal when I was living through somebody else. But so we was he when I knew his reputation and his intentions.

I wanted to believe I was not like the other girls and I was the one who he was meant to be with, his eyes glittering with promises he'd never hurt me, that I was not like those other worthless girls, but I wouldn't let myself be so naïve. I was just another conquest. And after I became just another statistic to his smirk I couldn't live with toiling through the streets with his memory falling everywhere I turned, when his heart would beat so far away for another girl after he was through with me. But feeling him in the air I breathed I knew that I wanted this. That I wasn't strong enough to dissuade my heart. There was always the route of a permanent escape, holding true to my bet and leaving after a week, and if he would only keep me around until he became disinterested, after a week, then I was safe to leave, nothing could hold me back then, and I would keep myself from being crushed. I could fall into the life I've always known with the familiar numb coldness, and nobody would be the wiser I wasn't who I said I was. Only that allowed me to feel the heat of his gaze, to ignore my lie that was just as bad as what he was doing to me. Jack said he could break me but he was so wrong, so ignorant. Despite all the roaring emotions they were not mine. They were Venice's. And I was Lisolette.

The moment I looked back up at him I knew I had lost. The infatuation ran so much deeper and I couldn't pull away from his promise, his well practiced art. I wanted to know more and I wanted so badly to trust him, but most of all I wanted to feel alive. I never wanted to feel this emptiness inside of me.

With a certainty I faked I submitted. With my last thought that I'd never really kissed without it being taken from me and I hoped to god that I would please him his lips came down upon mine. Soft and hesitant, so unlike what I thought of him, he kissed me and I was taken from all my pain to a place faraway that could only be ours. Testing to see if I was willing he paused, his eyes opening when I hadn't seen them close, to see if I felt the searing passion burning my lips that I so desperately wanted. Frightened I returned the gesture and in surprise knew that this was right. The man, the dominant, deepened this kiss as his arm tightened around my waist, his other tangling through my greasy hair. I felt my hands leave emptiness and circle around his neck as he drew me closer and in all intimacy I did not know what I felt, did not know what was. I only knew him.

Deepening the kiss until it couldn't be deepened anymore Pandora's Box flew wide open. There was not disease and evil but something just as dangerous- true emotion. It surged painfully through my veins like white hot flames, flushing my cheeks. It trickled into our heated kiss, condemning everything I had tried so desperately to forget. Everything I wouldn't let live inside me and bloom like a monster feeding off my weakness until I was a slave to it all. Like I was despairingly living it all over the fear and anger, deepness of depression, the guilt and self damnation attacked me, breaking me away from him. Breaking me to another place I couldn't break away from, where it all screamed inside my head. It throbbed like it had been blown apart and hastily put together without fitting, my head screaming a thousand times over. I needed an out, the passion controlled me, had my hands running along his chest, taking the kiss further when he wouldn't and running my hand along his neck and down his shirt. The loneliness that had damned me for so long forced me to him; he'd disappear unless I kissed harder. Unless I pushed harder, let the emotions fly haywire and free. I couldn't stop, addicted to him, forgetting where we were and who we were and with one hand began unbuttoning his shirt without thinking. He returned, running his hand along the curves of my hips hungrily, feeding off me. And I fed off him, pressing into him and forgetting.

Forcing me back against the sturdy brick of building we kissed as I flew to get closer to him and kiss harder. He needed this just as bad as I did, taking all the frustration this world caused out in a heated kiss. He was stealing all my breath and the raw heated passion reached a climax, I couldn't breathe. My heart beat too fast. My head pounded and every thought that was banished returned with a hundred more. Every emotion I let loose had me push into him until I felt I couldn't push any harder. My fingernails dug into him and his fingers that were so overcome with the heat of the moment turned into bruises. A sharp pain stole me back to a theory of actual reality but I couldn't stop kissing him, trying to forget the throbbing in my wrist. The harder I pushed him the more acute the pain, a stern and warning sharp burst of pain as my wrist was clenched until it couldn't move down his shirt anymore.

Furious tears swelled up and fell into our conjoined lips, before the pain shot me away. I fell back against the wall, panting. Disoriented. I couldn't focus on anything, not even my addiction to him. Just the screaming in my head until I remembered the whys and I stared angrily at a wrist that had broken the most I had ever felt. A hand was there, done twisting it and now clutching it firmly in place and holding it upright, and hesitantly I traced that arm. I knew who it was before I got there.

"Not a real man?" I hissed bitterly, accusingly staring at the boy who had ruined everything and made everything simultaneously. I couldn't understand this, even if I wasn't so discombobulated. It was what Spot thirsted for under the sun and under the moon, it was what he had fought with me for, and now he was ending it now, just when things escalated? Was I not good enough for him?

"I ain't gonna let ya do dis," he said sternly quiet, the uncertainty in his eyes telling me he didn't understand this anymore than I did. His tensed muscles telling me he was just about to take it back.

"It's wad ya want," I shouted, unable to take this. I wanted to please him; I wanted him to take me away from here. I wanted this so bad and I had no idea how bad it hurt when he refused to give it to me. Even more than when I wanted to give it to him so bad and knew I couldn't. "Wads wrong wid dis? We can find somewhere else besides da streets."

"Yer hysterical," Spot said angrily, yanking away from me when I reached out like I would burn him. "I felt yer tears when we'se was kissing. I ain't gonna sleep wid a sobbing woman. Especially when she's too upset to know wad she wants."

I glowered up at him, not bothering to wipe the tears burning crevices in my skin away. "I know wad I want."

"No ya don't," he sighed, looking away from me like it hurt him to see me like this. He was a master of disguises but now I had ripped that away from him, feeling the connection of honesty that was almost too much. Despite the act he played up I could sense the worry in him. "And I'm not going to be used. If yer just trying to end da tears by getting in bed wid me…"

"And you do dat to every other goil," I screeched, the tears choking my words, as I looked away when the new salty drops fell. "Every goil who's dared ta give ya dere heart ya throw away for one moment of pleasure. Yer not gonna be used? But you'll use us? Spot, you have no idea wad ya did to some of dose goils. Wad yer still doing to dem when dey wanted ya till dey let demselves want wad dey should never want and fer ya to toss dem aside is disgusting! You're an asshole, Spot, a sex crazed asshole."

"Don't lecture me, Ven. Dat why yer crying? Fer oddah goils ya don't know. Fer stories you've only heard half of. I won't believe ya if ya say it's true."

Despite what high and mighty Spot Conlon said I knew I had touched a nerve. So Spot Conlon had a heart, felt remorse. But he didn't understand and there was so much I wanted to tell him. But couldn't. I didn't want to say anything for fear I would explode. "No! I ain't crying fer dem, evah!"

"Den why are ya?"

"Cause I'm remembering every fucking thing I tried to forget! I want to forget it, but I can't always escape it entirely. It snuck up on me, alright?" I shouted and he stared, stunned, not knowing how to react to this confession of the soul. I didn't even know how to react as shame flushed my cheeks because of an honesty that was out of line between our melodramatic duet. "But you should be sorry fer all da lives ya screwed up fer yer moment of pleasure. No, Spot, let me finish. Yer being a lousy hypocrite. And ya have no idea wad its like…"

"Wad what's like?" he said sharply, whirling on me and hooking me with his hardened blue eyes. Penetrating and probing he'd know if I was lying, and he'd know how to steal the truth from me.

"Ta want something so bad and know ya can't have it," I said quietly, hardly able to breathe. So a truth he didn't understand was out for him to play with.

"And why can't ya?" he asked smoothly, softly, a tenderness in his calloused attitude as he looked at me with true concern. He cupped my chin in his rough fingers, refusing to let me go at my protests.

"Because I won't let myself forget," I conceded, fresh tears reflecting his confusion. "I can't let myself forget every promise I made to myself. And if I let myself be forgotten and used like you so easily do den I'll forget myself. Forever. I don't want to have to be somebody else again."

"Ya can nevah escape yerself," he said softly, his eyes not meeting mine and I tried so hard to focus on what lay behind those words. The times he might've tried to do the same, failing and loosing more than before. But I shook my head, biting my tongue. I was coming too close to telling him. Every time a piece of me was taken, and that's what he'd only be doing, taking a piece of me and never giving it back, then I wouldn't be able to go on. I'd have to forget. I'd have to change. Like I had to change after my sister. And after the boy I had soaked. It was a bitch to get a new name.

"Really, Spot? Ya do it so well," I sniffled, looking directly at him honestly. I did not want to rouse him for a fight, I wanted sincerity for once. His impatience and anger was brewing, and I knew I had to keep talking. "Every time ya don't want to think or feel something, or let someone close, or let someone know wad yer thinking, ya escape yerself. Ya lie. Ya betray how ya feel and hoit who ya don't want to."

"Dat's living on da streets, Venice," he said angrily, trying to slap me back to that thing called reality. I didn't want to hear it. "It's all bout being who ya ain't ta save yer skin, yer little sistahs, and yer newsboys. It ain't always fair. Now don't go thinking I'm some weak hearted fool underneath, some sensitive poet or something."

"No," I said after pondering that for the seconds he allowed me. "I don't. For some reason dat makes ya strongah."

"So I told ya something. Now ya gottah tell me something," he suggested unhesitatingly, smirking, but I could see behind it- he wanted to get far away from any nauseating compliments to make him human. He shrugged like a guilty boy with his hand in the cookie jar adamantly protesting to taking one. It was obvious he had been plotting that.

"Do not!" I protested loudly, with a 'you can't make me' look clearly stamped across.

"Yes you do," he affirmed, making up the rules as he went along like an older sibling in a card game. "C'mon, Ven, do ya really want to be in me debt?"

"Ya can answah dat yerself," I grumbled, wincing at the thought of the lengths he'd force me to go. "Wad do ya want ta know?"

"Two things."

"No."

"Venice…"

"No. I only owe ya one."

"No, I told ya something big, da things I gonna ask aren't," he excused himself and I could only roll my eyes at this immature game of cat and mouse. But for some reason I felt completely relaxed, completely secure he would not ask anything I wasn't compelled to or couldn't answer.

"Foist one is wads yer real name?" he asked curiously, shattering my lies like a bullet from a gun. He could not possibly be intuitive enough to look deeper into my background, could not possibly be so calm if he was. His honest childlike curiosity was not the deathly calm that promised retribution, and slowly the ice that crept over my heart thawed. Still, I was on my guard.

"Ya wasted yer question," I muttered, recovering, undoing any damage that might have been done at me tensed look. "It's Lani, ya know dat."

"I know dat, but I mean wads yer middle and last name," he encouraged with a sweet laid back smile, one I'd never seen, one that put me at ease. He leaned against the building and pulled a cigarette from his pocket like magic. Watching me studiously, carefully making sure I wasn't lying to him, he lit that death stick without taking his eyes away.

I studied him carefully, testing him with a look to see if I could really speak a truthful word. I could easily create my own name as I created everything else, but I could not. The deceit I drenched myself and him in was just as terrible as his whispered lies in the night, and I couldn't bring myself to hypocrisy. And I couldn't bring myself to the truth. So I compromised.

"Promise not to laugh?" I asked him seriously and he only nodded, gesturing for me to go on. "It's Lani Forever Aubree Tchaikovsky."

He eyed me suspiciously, removed the cigarette from his lips. "Yer lying."

"I told ya not ta laugh!"

"I ain't laughing," he acknowledged truthfully and I intently studied his solemn face for any traces of laughter, but even in the blue eyes that had so long mocked me laughter was not foremost. "If it's yer real name it's beautiful."

"Stop trying ta get in me pants," I shrugged embarrassedly, creating an excuse when I didn't need one. He shook me a little, not rough, bringing me to his honestly.

"It's beautiful."

"Thanks, me mum loved dat, woid, forever," I said quietly, thinking back to a time so very long ago, a time that almost never existed. When love circulated my mom's heart, when life pumped through it, when she used to pull me onto her lap and stroke my hair back. 'You are going to make everyone want to live forever, just so they never have to let go of you'. Her whisper was a ghost of yesterday suspended in now. I almost felt her warm breath; I almost felt her stroking my hair back. I almost felt her watching me. But it was only Spot. Like always, he knew it all. He was an expertise at reading into everything and he knew the memories and ghosts that I nostalgically succumbed to. I'd forever be grateful for him not saying a word and giving me time to speak with my mother long passed and dance with her ghost.

"So oh great king, wads yer name?" I retaliated and he only shook his head.

"Nope, dat was one of me questions. Now fer da second," he hesitated, sending me a sideways look as he crushed the cigarette into the ground.

"Well," I demanded impatiently, it now being my time to gesture for him to go on.

"Weah'd ya learn ta kiss like dat?" he asked, grinning wolfishly and my eyebrow quirked, the anger so ready to spill over protested when the laughter bubbled deeper and truer. "Cause if they're training oddah goils I wanna meet dis guy…"

Grinning despite myself I retaliated in the only way I could. His golden hair fell free of the hat he had just slapped on a moment before, and cackling maniacally I took off down the street with it. Waving it in the air in pride I was hardly steps in front of him, working with all my might in our game of keep away. I didn't understand it; someone I could be fighting with and hating so darkly I could be kissing and becoming hysterical over, and now playing a simple game of keep away. What was wrong with us?

I screamed, the laughter ripping harder as I doubled over when his arms encircled my waist tightly. I struggled, paddling at the air, but his muscles did not relax as he whooped in revengeful glee and swung me towards him. Smiling innocently up at him I offered him his hat. "You should be more careful wid yer hat, Spot."

He sneered, trying to hide his own laughter but his eyes glittered with all I had instigated and all he had joined in- so few could these times be captured each one was a jewel on its own. Where troubles and romances were thrown away for a childhood that had been so early stolen from us.

The vibrant lights shot from Medda's to illuminate him in the softest glow, his eyes mirroring the light he was basked in. A smile melted me, his arms formed me, and I fought with my fluttering eyes, fought to stay my addiction and not fall into him like I belonged there. Struggled not to feel so safe in his arms, struggled to not feel at all. It was a purpose he had made me forget, but I was too drunk off his rare humility to fight him again, to break this image of him.

"Get inside," he ordered harshly, shattering his own portrait. I blinked stupidly up at him in confusion, trying to decode his blatant words. All I saw and all I heard was what he let me, nothing. His eyes had glazed over like lava cooling to rock, his face painted emotionless, and the moments we had shared gone from him like they were never there at all. Like a sweet dream that had disappeared for this hell.

"Ya hoid me, Ven, get inside now," he commanded, shoving me roughly from him and I stumbled for a balance against gravity, something solid beneath my feet. Stubbornly I looked around for mocking onlookers, for a danger alerting him away from me and me away from him. I turned back to him blankly. His blue eyes were hard and unfeeling, shooting sparks from them and pushing me further away.

"Anuddah Jack impression?" I queried with a cocky smirk and as his eyes narrowed I knew I was pushing my luck. Yet just because I had given into temptation and had returned his humanity did not mean that I had been put in my place.

"Jack can do his own woik and I'm betting he's bout ta come out and drag ya back in by da ear," Spot said stiffly, his eyes flashing warily to Medda's precarious entrance that was so much like a dream catcher; it filtered the sweet dreams within its safe walls, leaving the screaming nightmares howling for us at the door. I longed to wrap myself in the security of those walls but he shut me out, him and how well he played me. I wanted to be having the best of times with my somewhat friends, even with Jack's watchful eye. But I wanted him more. I wanted the bittersweet nightmare when it stole me away from all others.

My eyes fluttered close, not to his treachery but to my own eclipse of the heart. The good sense he made me loose combated whatever frayed feelings I still harbored for him, bringing me with terrifying speed back to my conscience. Back to the anger. I didn't know when I had started letting him play me for the fool, I didn't know when I had left my defenses on his lips, but I wanted them back. I needed them back to escape the hold he had on me.

Without thinking of it myself I pulled on the anger I kept so carefully locked away. Usually I had a tight reign on my emotions and now I was playing by them, pulling on that anger to blind me and could only pray I would succeed. As I looked back into those flinted eyes I knew it had worked when a numbness prevailed his upper-hand and I took my own deep breath before I stole back what was mine. His own putrid arrogance wafted towards me, sensing the 'goodnight' kiss and his stern fury wavered for one more good time. Smiling softly I stood on tip-toes, summoning all the self-control I had and leaned into his lips for that one bid farewell. A second sang on his soft, practiced lips and the tick tock clock flashed a warning before he deepened it. Grinning I pulled away so quickly it left my head buzzing, falling back to solid ground and I flashed him a cocky wink before I strutted everything I had for the kiss that had taken everything back.

The cyclonic pull that wanted to take me falling back into Spot's arms weakened when I bade it to, evaporating everything I had left for that boy, everything at all. The voices trembled in my head, fading into indistinguishable murmurs. The mistakes that screamed my name were silenced, the horrid reminder this confrontation never would've happened if I had just been strong enough to tell Spot about Genghis and his schemes. I avowed to myself right then I wouldn't let that happen again. I would tell Jack straight up about Genghis, I would apologize (no matter how awful that would be), and I would attempt to stay in line. I would try not to curse so much, I would try to develop that female bond I thirsted for with Camelot, I would try to be more than a dirty whore to the boys. I would make things right again. I would face Spot with the strings cut away, I would no longer be his milksop for him to use and then toss to the side like I had nearly come to be tonight.

It was all I could do, those incoherent and not-in-writing promises, to keep from screaming. No matter how forcefully I could tell myself I was ending all I felt for Spot Conlon I knew it'd never be over until the fat lady let him have me. The mistakes faulted me, loosing me in a place I didn't know and couldn't stay; a place where everything that felt so right was so wrong. Those stupid promises were all that kept me from running. Running out of New York, or running into Mush's built arms and sobbing like the lost little girl I felt. Sniffling in self-pity I tried not to think, tried to count the steps back to Medda's and the ants I was crushing with each step. The past was gone, the present was now, and the future could never come. Yet when you know not what happened in the past each step to move on is agony.

Exhaling from the deep drag of a natural cigarette I tried to prepare myself for any berating that would be hurtled at me. I had no doubt I wasn't strong enough tonight. Recovery never was my forte, and for all the self pity I had emotionally suffered enough blows. My wrist ached from Spot's anchor, my hand ached from Snitch's carelessness, and my fear throbbed. I hardly felt that fear, freezing it over as I approached Medda's. Freezing everything over, settling for my familiar friend of numbness. I was feeling too much and only shame if the tears dared to spill once there were people around. Only time could tell how well that promise would be stuck to rarely these last few days.

"You'll keep out of trouble my ass!"

"And it's a very nice ass too," I snorted, waltzing by with the casual superior smirk and wink. His sword had been pulled from the stone, the meat had been hidden, and now golden boy was on the trail. Hot on my heels I did not quicken my pace for an escape I'd never find, but in absurd boldness nonchalantly maneuvered through a thick throng of people.

"Wads wrong wid ya? Ya should be thanking yer lucky stars I'm keeping my temper. I oughta turn ya ovah me knee. I oughta send ya packing. Yer lucky Spot went and got ya before ya was left fer dead, or before I got to ya. And where da hell is he? Ya drive him crazy too?"

"Medda's gotta woik on her welcoming committee," I observed provocatively. I knew better than to push Jack right now, after I had disobeyed him, but now was not the time for rationality.

"Ya…" he spluttered and I tossed a look over my shoulder curiously, figuring I should prize this speechless Jack. Who knows when I'd ever see that again. Another mistake ticked against me as he became flushed with fury. Livid, he snapped, "Ya bettah stop giving me lip before I forget yer a goil, and do like I should. If ya was one of me boys I'd be dragging ya outside and soaking da living daylights oughta ya."

"No," I corrected softly, hoping not to anger him further, hoping to dim it before it pushed me over the edge. My head was screaming and I felt my defenses slowly crumbling, the floodgate of tears so close to breaking free. The force with what Spot had stricken me with became sickeningly real as I gazed distantly at my irate leader, falling to pieces. Using him to forget myself from this world he played me slyer, and with that kiss I was drained wanting more, knowing just how much it had affected me and just what human side of Spot it had given me insight to. Even when he wasn't winning he was. Jack's angry rapid breaths grounded me and I tried to orient myself again, trying to remember how I could get Jack to stop lecturing, if I even had anything to remember in the first place. "If I was one of yer boys you wouldn't get dis sore. It's only me or Cammie, or any uddah goil, dat sets ya mad."

"No," he said thoughtfully, but without hesitating. "I'd be mad if it was one of me boys. Brooklyn at night is no place for anybody, even a Brooklyn newsie. And it sure as hell ain't no god damn place for a goil!"

"I shouldn't try da 'I can handle myself card' I'm guessing," I conceded.

"You'll be just wasting yer breath," Jack agreed, the anger I had seen dimming still raw and shimmering in his hazel eyes. My fighting energy was wasted on every other conflict, and I had none left to defend myself with, to fight this lecture I knew from the second I stepped outside of Medda's I had coming. Perhaps that was my luck, because at my nonexistent anger Jack seemed to be calming as well. Or maybe he did not know how to react when I gave him nothing to fight on.

"Why do ya keep doing dat, Venice?" he muttered, more to himself than to me, before looking me dead in the eye. "I've been lenient wid ya but ya can't take off like dat again. I ain't having it."

Silently I nodded, wanting to apologize. Yet I couldn't understand why he was getting so worked up, when I was alive and fine and hadn't stirred trouble he knew about. I knew if something happened to me it would be a blow to his ego; he was my leader and I was his responsibility, it would be a black mark to his infamous name.

"Ya gonna tell me why?" he asked quietly, gently probing. I shrugged, hoping for time. I wanted nothing more than to tell him everything like he was my family, or even my friend, I wanted to collapse against him like I longed for Mush. It would be easier if I could let myself do all that, but every restraint I had lived with held me against such honesty. "Ya at least gonna tell me why ya look like ya gonna cry?"

"It's nothing," I said hoarsely, wiping the tears away from my eyes. I knew he would have none of that and was waiting for an explanation I refused to give. "I guess we'se at stalemate."

"I guess we are," Jack agreed tiredly. Ignorance was not his façade; he knew I was too stubborn to give him a truthful answer. And he was too stubborn and too proud to let it alone. The promises I had avowed to my own self seemed worthless, like personal treasured items that couldn't be exchanged for coin. Yet no matter how worthless they were, I needed to try to set things right.

"Jack," I said hurriedly, knowing very well that I might scare the coward into me if I didn't speak quickly. "Ya know da phrase don't shoot da messenger? Well don't. When…"

Our stalemate was broken, my confession received an intermission, when pounding feet and a swinging door announced the king himself. Blue eyes flashing Spot stormed through the door, a younger boy struggling to keep pace and still look tough, instead of a boy pretending to be a man. I gave this intruder a quick once over; couldn't be more than thirteen, a lean and wiry brunette boy slightly shorter than Spot and from the looks of him he was fast. There were no further explanations for me to finally understand what had Spot so randomly pushing me away. I had heard all about Spot's birdies, the boasts I hardly half-believed, but even I had to admit they were good. I hadn't heard him, hadn't seen him at all. He gave life to a dark scowl of my own as comprehension dawned on me- there was a reason for the intervention when it was so inconvenient for Spot (I was the inconvenience). 'We can't do nothing bout it now, I'se sure Conlon's little boidies have run off dere mouths by now.' His mouth had run off good and we watched as Spot scanned the room, missing the two of us, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Even the dead ends of his tousled blonde hair screamed he wanted to hit something. It was on the kid's health he was staying out of arms reach.

"Venice, I swear, if you pushed Spot…" Jack threatened, looking between Spot's irate and frighteningly emotionless expression and my dark, hurt, glare. Maybe he saw the helplessness in it for my holy leader's voice trailed away and accusingly he stared at one of the few he considered a friend. Intrigued I watched when a taller, lanky boy appeared by Spot's side. Low voices the trio spoke in secrecy, Spot's flaming eyes still dancing around the room like he was looking for something. And finally they fell on me.

For seconds we were connected like ignited wildfire, falling into his turbulent icy eyes, as cold as he was emotionless. I pulled myself immediately away, able to regain a control on myself that was so precarious only from his earlier actions of slick confessions. Remembering my victory I flashed him a smirk, only pushing his anger further. There was no possibility he could be this mad at me alone.

"So ya found yer brat," Spot growled and instinctively I reeled back, wishing to cling to Jack like a small child and her mother's skirts. I hadn't even seen Spot coming. But now his glare was not meant for me, those cold icebergs scraping Jack. "Yer glare is da thanks I get fer getting yer newsgoil before she was killed?"

"I think ya did a little more den play fetch," I said beneath my breath and Spot's glare remained unfocused, pretending not to have heard me when I was sure he did. As sure as I was Jack had heard me at his accusing glare, though it was me who he cuffed to silence.

"I told ya I'd deal wid her, Spot," Jack said coolly back. Even if he wouldn't defend me, even if I was being treated like a child, I was still relieved Spot's attacks were digging under his skin. Spot easily registered the cold warning in his voice, but it was not in his resume to heed such.

"And dats wad ya said da first day she showed, and she's still da black sheep of da newsies," Spot hissed vehemently. I smiled sweetly up at him, a smile that promised trouble.

"Every black sheep needs her toy," I smiled the secret look of the black widow, the deadly womanly steady glower, as sweet as honey to those who weren't her wrangled kill. The lights lit, I saw through his façade into where he squirmed, and I fed on that insecure awkwardness. My weakness fed on his strength.

The smile that didn't reach his eyes was as cold as the steel knife of a blade cutting through me for a single dirty look. I felt my smile fading, but his eyes darkened severely when he saw that I was laughing at him. Mocking his uncertainty, his quest for a vengeful code only we could understand and finding none. I knew soon he'd perforate the detaching bridge I had built across my heart.

"Too bad she can't get any," he retorted kindly back, but behind the roaring nectarine of his voice his words were drenched in a harsh deception. Like a bullet to glass he cracked my surface, forgetting the glass reflected and it showed his mirror image as I looked back at him, strong to the others, and weakening like prey only to the two of us. He had managed to dent my defenses, but I lit up like a perfect reflection. His manipulation to convince me I was privileged he was going to make sweet love to me and then drop me and my bleeding heart, privileged because nobody else would go near such an atrocity. I reflected his plan back to him open and vulnerable to be torn apart from the confusion in his eyes only fifteen minutes ago. For him to know I had my own plan, my own treachery of the heart.

Opening my mouth to retort everything fell dry, my words tumbling silently out and breaking at my feet, the rest unable to get past my swollen throat. Yet a look was enough for now, a look that now left him unbalanced and unsure, enough for the others to watch curiously as their high and mighty leader was unraveled by the rogue.

Recovery was his forte, and he snapped away from the tangled web we wove, and back to the present everybody else knew. Still watching me, his eyes igniting with blue kerosene again, he spoke to Jack sharply. "Ya should be keeping a closer eye on her, Kelly. Ya don't know wad she's seen tonight, don't know wad she's hoid."

"Wad are ya tawkin bout, Spot?" Jack demanded shortly. For the first time he seemed unsure under Spot's withering look.

"I was trying ta tell him when ya so rudely interrupted, Conlon," I said stiffly, trying to repair the damage that hadn't been done yet. His scowl deepened and I knew he wanted nothing more than to attack me.

"Genghis is round. Would've attacked tonight if…" he sent me a sideways look, a secrecy he forbade me to hear. I only listened harder. Yet Jack in his infinite wisdom picked up on the look.

"Venice, yer gonna loose yerself and ya ain't gonna find yerself again until I'm done tawkin. Yer going to go find Mush, Blink, or Racetrack…"

"Find me sistah too, keep her close. We don't know who's heah," Spot ordered me and I stared in dumb shock. Of course he wanted to assure that his sister was alright, but was he trying to get me to play babysitter to someone around my own age? Was he trusting me enough to follow a command?

"Right. And ya ain't gonna leave dere sights, I'll make sure of it. Yer going to keep out of trouble, and ya ain't gonna give anybody a hard time," Jack said calmly, but in his peacefulness was my stern and I was sure only warning. It was no suggestion, not even a 'got it' for me to have any say; it was an order to be obeyed. I didn't even consider disobeying or back talking, only sent a withering glare to Spot and stormed away like an exiled child, not grown up enough for 'adult talk'.

The depths of Medda's were a strange place I shouldn't have dared venture alone, only stirring its murky waters provocatively. I felt the eyes tracing me over hungrily and forced myself by will power to keep looking ahead. If I kept my eyes to the ground I would be taken for vulnerable and weak, and in more trouble than Jack imagined. It wasn't just the breath and smoke around me that had me suffocating, it was the hardened newsboys and their connections leering and roughhousing with too many drinks that have passed through their hands, the occasional female predatorily stalking the perimeter. In this throng of gruff loud men and cigarette smoke my chances of spying my keeper's out was slim at best.

The lights drew me in like a moth as I migrated to the edge of the theater, not making any eye contact that could be suggestive or challenging, not lingering anywhere for any more than a few seconds. The laughter drew me out of my sullen mood, out of my desperate and despairing search, into the light where I'd never been forbidden.

The voices were simply recognizable and a familiar friend to my foreign ears, the purity of true happiness without holding it back ringing in their laughter. I hadn't heard much of it, but the little happiness I heard lured me closer like a siren's song. Ducking beneath the arm of some muscular fellow I fell into step beside unfamiliar faces, but relief's song screamed as I had finally found two of my lost comrade's. They wouldn't have seen me and I took a step down from advocator for my eyes that never lingered long enough.

Some aspiring musical group had congregated in a corner, tapping out a tune. They weren't what kept me captivated, the swirling bodies swaying rhythmically to the rhythm. It was the happiness and security ricocheting off two bodies like I had never seen before as he span her small body around and she threw him back into a dip for the female, the blood pooling at their fingertips. It could be my own moments of vulnerability so lusting for love, or the combination of his quirky charm and her fiery beauty, that wouldn't let me tear my eyes away.

It is so hard to find the beauty in a life hardly worth living sometimes we forget how gifted it is. When the ghosts have run off to party with the vampires and shells are given up, when raw emotion shines its brightest we settle with the simplest knowledge that this life is beautiful. It can not be measured in the tears shed or the bad memories, but in the heat of the moments that make everything worth it. Here, now, watching half my friends shining with laughter and sweat, spinning each other and forgetting themselves, it all came together for me. A name was just a name, superficiality when the other person of a name was inside you all along. Thoughts and emotions were worth it for the seconds of beauty, no matter how much pain they caused. No chain of events could be judged by what could happen if such an emotion was let to be lived. It was the image of emotion, nothing steady in two beating hearts, as abstract as the emotion between them.

**A/N-** thank you to anybody who is still putting up with me and I really hope you enjoyed that chapter. And I really hope you have an addiction to the purple review button. please review, but I think you know I'm gonna ask that. So again, thank you to anybody who's read this.

**Much Love everyone**

**-----Marcia (pronounciation- Marsha)**

**Shoutouts :)**

**Reffy**- yay, Reffy's back! woah, I'm blushing at your compliment. thank you so much for the ego stroke, I really uber appreciate your reviews and that your putting up with this story. it's getting hard to keep Spot in character, i'd love to know what you think about this side of him.yeah, i know one too many of those guys too, and in freaking disney movies as well. haha. i hope i kept up with your gracious compliment, and i really hope you enjoyed this. Keep CTB!

**RaincoatSammy-** sorry there was no family jewel's kicking in this chapter. oh spotty will someday will be kicked there, when the little cocky jerkhat leasts expects it. it's hard for her to decipher just what Spot means to do, but I wouldn't get with a guy like him either. thank you for your review, every one means a lot, and I really appreciate your compliment. hopefully the next chapter will be soon and I really hope you enjoyed this one.

**Emba**- Mush would wind up in Desperate Housewives. yup, she's about asemotional as a pregnant chick.haha. well, i can't say this chapter came out as soon as I thought it would. the next chapter will be quicker I hope, and that's not in writing for the record. anyway, thank you so very, very much for your review. I am so happy your keeping up with this story and I love to know what you think about it.

**ConlonsGirl-** lots of coffee and round about craziness. actually the elf thing was from my friend and I in geography when we were trying to explain to our teacher why the TV was fuzzy. you see, there's an elf in there, and when it gets sick or is getting old the TV goes fuzzy. lol. haha, little more-than-just-half-of-one-brain, that made me giggle. i'm really happy you've picked up on the Conlon's relationship and that your analyzing it. yes ma'am your right, she can give Venice a heads up once the girls have established a real friendship (soon) and Spot actually has the attention span to think about what he's feeling (now). the muses say there will be more Spot/Camelot moments/scenes in the future (also soon), I'm glad you want there to be. sorry this chapter took me forever to write, lame excuses, but schools out now. thank you again for your review, reviews like yours are greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will continue reviewing.


	14. Chapter 14: Illusions

Disclaimer- I don't own the newsies, blah blah blah, I own anything that isn't owned by disney. Ha!

Shadowy figures paraded past eyes that hardly saw them. The cruel whispers jabbed through me but I hardly felt their blades and an unguarded pair of eyes caught mine, danced in the light and invited me to join them. I was too heavy in guilt and damnation to be light and open, to be carefree enough to meet his eyes for any second. I recognized him but not by name and as him and his little gang past me he sighed at my refusal to look up. The sigh weighed me down like a drug. Reasons for him to care if I looked up and acknowledged any of them were nonexistent and ridiculous; it was a pointless movement I couldn't bring myself to do for the honesty in my dark eyes would attract attention. Growling under my breath from the madness I finally looked up as someone's unwavering stare bore into me. He was gone. Eyes that mirrored mine stared back drenched in color, eyes with as many ghosts and secrets, and such sadness tinted such euphoria I tried not to cry out at the symmetry between us. I wanted Spot but couldn't have him and he couldn't have me, he was the euphoria I despised. He was star-crossed and those haunting eyes were struggling too. Suddenly they became guarded again, closing, and before I could find who it was they were gone. Mysterious mysteries.

"Ya look afraid," a startling voice tickled my ear. I whirled on my heel only in the rush of surprise, staring dumbfounded at the open bluntness of the young woman.

"I do?" I said in wonder, nearly slapping myself. Where was any witty retort when I most needed it, where was silence when it was called for? Gone on their lunch breaks? They were resources of survival and here they were abandoning me, leaving me open and vulnerable to the strangeness of the crazy connections newsies had. Leaving me alone with this woman.

"It's all alright," she assured me, taking my hands in hers and squeezing gently in a comforting gesture. Remembering myself I pulled away quickly, scowling at her hideous openness. What right did she have to connect herself with strangers when I couldn't even connect with family? "It's good to be frightened. It keeps ya from getting too wild or too arrogant wid youth."

"Bull, I ain't scared of death," I retorted honestly, following her train of thought. Fear would spare me from it but I wasn't terrified of the outcome of not living in that fear. Now I just wanted my foul language to scare her off.

"I realize yer afraid," she continued as if she hadn't heard me, not even flinching at my cussing. "But you can't reject everyone. Leaving ya alone just makes ya more afraid. Ya don't want dat. Ya don't want ta escape."

"How do ya know wad I want?" I snapped automatically, those words tumbling like a reflex when there was so much I wanted to ask her.

"I see it, child," she said kindly, her brown eyes unguarded and honest as sympathetically she smiled. She offered nothing else and I had to look away to keep from screaming. Frustration pushed me to talking back.

"See wad?" I growled but she didn't answer, only raise an eyebrow at my vexation. "Yer insane."

"Aye, but sanity is an illusion. Nobody really is quite right in da head." Her cryptic reasons were becoming too color-coded and novella for my tastes. Especially when she was so strange but so right. "Yer carrying a secret, I see it in ya. Many ya don't want anybody ta heah. Nothing good ever comes out of it."

"Who are ya?" I demanded, crossing my arms and playing on that guard she was warning me about. Coolly I calculated her. She wasn't attired in gypsy clothes as expected, eerie warnings for a bit of coin, she was dressed…normal. Long brown skirt and plain white blouse, her long black hair tied up high. But it could be just an illusion. I'm sure many who relied on kind outward impressions had their heads hacked off in the night.

"Just a tired woman. Tired of grieving. Tired of watching oddahs throw dere lives away," she said sadly, her secret past reflecting openly in her warm eyes.

"I'm not," I muttered, although I knew she would only fight it.

"Ya are," she rebutted determinedly. "Listen, time is running shoit. I fear ya may not heah me. Da future will be hard on ya."

"How do you…"

"I see it, Lisolette. Yer path has been chosen. I can only hope ya listen now. Can only hope ya change it."

"Wad are ya tawkin bout?" I snapped, wanting to hide from that penetrating look at the panicked edge to my voice. My skin crawled when she didn't speak; just with those pitying eyes she studied me as I am now. "Wad do ya mean ya know da future? How can ya? It's impossible."

"No. Improbable but not impossible. Wid enough time and space nothing is impossible," she corrected softly, that damn understanding back at my anger. "I've angered ya."

I fell quiet, unsure how to respond when I was seething inside. She didn't mean it, unlike Spot. Poor thing, only in her twenties and as mad as a hatter. I decided to play along with her little game. "How can I change da future if it's already been chosen fer me?"

"I can not say," she said hesitantly, thought troubling her like she saw more than she wanted. "Everybody can change their futures. Nothing is ever a certainty. Those young girls wid dere lives set up before dey are born can change dere futures. It comes in time. Dose moments come in spades. You'll know dem when dey find ya."

"And if I don't," I said coldly, already knowing the answer.

"Den you'll have a tough journey, Let." The name finally stirred. It hinted at memory and I remembered she had called me that moments ago but it had slipped by undetected. Now it was honey to unfamiliar ears. I missed that name but my skin crawled.

"How do ya…" She was gone.

"I'm surrounded by lunatics," I muttered angrily beneath my breath, ignoring the stares now I received but didn't spare me a glance before. "I'll have ta tell Jack, he'll want ta know he's not da only one."

Jack. The name rang in my ears and wearily I sighed, remembering. I knew his order and dared not to disobey him so soon, knew that if I was found without the others it wouldn't be fun time with Jack. I turned towards where Camelot and Racetrack had been dancing moments before. They were gone. Everybody was so good at disappearing as soon as I looked. My feathers were ruffled, desperation touching me like a man whose been lost in the desert, knowing how close to death he was. I wasn't alarmed though, I could easily blend in here. I just needed a friendly face. I didn't want that woman's voice ringing in my ears.

I was thinking about thinking as I stepped through a narrow arch and away from curious eyes. So unimpressed but so in awe my skin still crawled. She was off her trolley; the future is nonsense when the past isn't even concrete and a name is meant to be forgotten but it wasn't that which had me skittering somewhere inside myself I hadn't claimed yet. It was that she had smelt my fear like a bloodhound, fear of living. That she had seen the secrets that which burdened me without the bat of an eye. Her future, her guidelines of change, were accented gibberish- but she had guided me on a path she did not know. To watch my step when I was walking on shattering glass or soon the truth would be unveiled. Bet or no bet I wouldn't last after my name rang out. Life or death.

I felt her animosity like electricity in this stuffy air before I saw her. The ornately carven wooden banister bloomed a tragically beautiful gargoyle, petrifying in her unblinking gaze of promising eternal damnation and a gothic protective spirit, frightening horror away. With the dangerous charms promised to her in the Conlon name and the venomous strike of a street urchin she served as a warning more real than any hanging skeleton. Her eyes glowed in the hazy light, the lines of golden orange and violet shining more acutely on the backdrop in this soft golden glow. Regrets puppeteer had pulled the strings as I stiffened upon feeling that throbbing animosity, but as I watched her those unsettling eyes were staring through me and past me. My heart beat to hers at the complete loss of hope reflected in those orbs. The color was startlingly unforgotten and I tried to keep my breathing regulated as disbelief kidnapped it- she was the second pair of eyes I had seen, with such a sad euphoria. I didn't expect it of her, not now, not ever, but I knew that something haunted underneath the surface in every living creature.

"I'm watching you," I threw my voice to a psychotic clowns pitch and the color drained from her face as she stirred. Her eyes quickly went back and forth and the trouble she sought for was not there, but her predatory instincts kept her on alert. She found me and stiffened. I tried so hard to keep my face void of any emotion but a taunting smirk yet she was as good as her brother, maybe even better, and saw past all that to the predicament that she now faced. Her eyes narrowed dangerously when she knew that I had seen her in honesty and vulnerability.

"Hey," I began softly, not wanting to ruffle her feathers and darken her glare. I hadn't forgotten my not-in-writing promises about befriending Camelot, and now rose the chance to show her we weren't on enemy lines.

"Can I help you?" she said after seconds of silent deliberation. I had caught her off guard and now from her coldness I understood how bad this looked to her.

"Ya look like ya just chugged da whiskey," I laughed and tried to lighten up the mood but all she did was stiffen. I tried to ignore her one leg swinging to and fro like a pendulum, not wanting to fall into her pit. Gathering all my courage I boldly sat down beside her. She didn't say a word, didn't even look at me.

I couldn't read her well, but I could only figure that her frostiness was because I had seen her looking anything but in control- had seen the lost little girl she was and had wondered about that and her tinted euphoria. That was the Conlon in her, that was the street rat in her, how badly she cared about her masks and her reputation. Bluntness rarely worked for me but I couldn't think of anything else. "Ya look like hell."

"Runs in da family," she shrugged, her head snapping back towards me. A tiny smirk played on her face and I grinned, all too happy to agree. "Do ya know why me bruddah stormed in here earlier?"

"I haven't da faintest idea," I answered easily and as truthfully as I could. It wouldn't be good to say part of the reason was because of me and our kiss. "But why do you look like yer bout ready ta jump off dis banister? I'm telling ya now, you'll be lucky if ya get a sprained ankle."

"I would be. Spot and da oddah boys would be at my command," she snorted, knowing this was wishful thinking on the streets. Injuries were just a part of life and would only get her more pairs of watchful eyes.

"Unless ya want me ta go get Spot and have him drag it out of ya tawk ta me," I prodded gently, wanting to hit myself for my cliché 'female bonding'.

"Wad bout da times I see it in yer eyes?" she snapped, suddenly vicious.

"See wad?" I asked when I just didn't want to hear her.

"Yer hiding something, Ven. Something like dat bloody nightmare ya had," she accused, her eyes flashing and the internal warnings sounded. I had to be careful. "We've all got wounds. I see dem in ya."

"Dammit, yer just as stubborn as yer bruddah," I snarled, trying to gain the offense.

"Oh, I can be more stubborn," she threatened but I could see her breaking when she wanted so desperately to talk to someone. Yet she was too proud to admit it.

"Wad do ya think I'm gonna do, Camelot? Run off and tell everyone ya was feeling sad?" I asked quietly, avoiding the laughing lilt at the irony of it. She lowered her eyes, knowing it was nonsense. I would have no inspiration to do so and it'd be pointless when all that would come of it would be a few of the boys keeping a trained eye on her. And I didn't need her as an enemy. Hoping to cheer her up I added, "I saw ya dancing wid Racetrack earlier."

"Don't tell Spot," she said automatically shooting up and I quirked an eyebrow, just daring her to try to issue me an order when I had the leverage- I was dangling her below a pit of ravenous lions and overprotective big brothers and could drop her at a whim. The desperation in her open expression stopped me. She whispered, "Please."

I grinned mockingly and left her dangling for dear life, bemused at her quickly paling face. That was before I realized what lay between the lines. "Why are ya so concerned?"

"Ya know how Spot is," she dismissed it quickly, hoping to play on my open hostility for him. Her game of manipulation didn't go undetected and I refused to let my emotions blind me.

"So? Wad do ya care wad he does ta Racetrack?" I demanded, believing I for once had the upper hand.

"Don't be stupid," she admonished coldly. "Racetrack's one of me best friends and I don't want me _deah bruddah_ ta harm a whisker dat really ain't on his chin."

"One of yer best friends?" I smirked, knowing her defenses had crumbled and now I saw a faint blush tint her cheeks. As she got warmer I got closer. "Not like yer bruddah?"

She shrugged innocently, struggling to connect with me, struggling to keep her eyes focused knowing if she lowered them the game would be over. Clenching her teeth she growled, "I don't know wad yer getting at Lani but I don't like it."

The Conlon in her was rearing its ugly head. The stronger it came out of her the more pressure burdened her tiny shoulders, the redder she became and the closer I got. "Ya two seemed awfully close. Awfully happy. Just friends dancing…"

"Loin yer place," she snapped, moving to rise but my steadying hand on her leg stayed her. I bristled, hearing that phrase often enough and didn't need to hear it from someone smaller than I but I was digging closer to breaking her for the truth and wasn't about to let petty matters change that. She ran a hand through her hair, a habit I've noticed at extreme points in her mood and exasperation and frustration.

"Camelot. I won't tell Spot," I avowed, honesty shining through my face pointedly as she carefully studied me. Her disbelief was nonexistent when she knew my resentment for her brother, that I'd be perfectly jolly keeping such a secret from him. Just to sway her the last bit I added, "Or Jack. Or anybody."

A feral grin burst like ignited fire and her smile was nearly as radiant as it had been with the hot tempered Italian, mischief shining in her eyes with the secret we now shared. She didn't have to say a word at her relief that what she so longed to say was lingering in the static air between us. I didn't have to say a word of relief that I knew that somehow her resentment at me for stirring the newsies badly was evaporating. She'd be a valuable ally in the life I had taken. In fights with Spot, in the secrets I harbored and when the time would come for them to be revealed, in surviving the lodging house, and whatever the future would hold. No bond could be as vital to girls as that with another female, and I had been starved of it since my sisters betrayal. By the looks of her she had been deprived of it all her life.

The details I didn't need from her glow when all I needed to know now was that her eye had been taken with someone as well as her heart. Only if Spot was distracted could any sparks fly between the two of them when somebody's eyes were always watching. Tonight he had been distracted. And as she would to me I'd be a valuable pawn to her in _missione impossibile: distrazione del Spot._

Thinking along the same lines our conjoined thoughts involved masquerading as tree's, swinging off of balconies, setting clowns attacking Spot, all with perfect hair and great posture. I caught her eye and she bit hard on her lip, looking anywhere at me as I tried to cough delicately to hide my laughter, when suspicious eyes were amazed as we suddenly got along acting like girls. Her laughter seeped in bouts through her pursed lips, before she rolled her eyes, gave up, and giggled. Giggled. Her face fell in surprise at the spasmodic laughter and I brightened up at that, glad I wasn't the only who could giggle, and color flooded her cheeks at the girlish sound. She had been raised and lived around boys all her life, only the girls the boys bedded ever giggled. I pitied her internal struggle, attempting to let herself be a girl and giggle when she had been surrounded by the disgusting tramps that flowed through her life. A few wandering eyes were trading looks at the sound and her scowl scared them into looking the other way, before for their benefit she forced herself to giggle.

"So weah are da boys?" I asked adamantly, trying to get her to forget her embarrassment. "Liquor table?"

"If dey were I'd be wid dem," she smirked and I giggled, beginning to get frustrated that everything seemed to be funny. I was the drunkest sober teenager to walk these halls.

"I claim dis banister in da name of Cinderella!"

"Cinderella? Can't ya think of anything more stupid?" she stated, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "How bout Pantyhose."

I snorted, doubling over with laughter. "Dats poifect," I cried, tears coming into my eyes with laughter of the insane, perking up still as startled looks were hurtled our way. I winked at one such boy with his eyes narrowed and disgust on his face, the most bold in the ring of blushing and angrily flushing boys at our audacity. In their pathetic minds I was a girl who stumbled upon Manhattan's doorstep and was lucky enough they had taken me in; a girl who needed to be taught her place in the cruelest and most testosterone driven ways. Camelot they had probably known most of their lives, yet from their startled looks they hadn't seen her behaving in such a way. I was the bad influence; I was another girl she could talk like so with. With males as constant companions such jokes were off limits.

The rest did not dare to come forward when Camelot was one of the troublemakers, their holier than thou leader only had the right to scold her. It was in his twisted control, so desperate to be ordering someone about he wouldn't let someone tell off his own sister. He was always so desperate to have the upper-hand. I tried to banish thoughts away from that dangerous war zone but they only boomeranged back to me. Bits and pieces reflected of him so they were not whole, like looking at yourself in a cracked mirror.

"Mush's coming," Camelot nudged me, sending me a warning look. Lowering her voice she informed me quickly. "He ain't too happy wid ya running off like dat."

"I got it already from Jack," I sighed miserably, really not wanting to listen to him vent and rant.

"Well ya won't be hearing da end of it," she assured me. "I'm speaking from experience."

"Wad are dey, in some kinda cult?" I grumbled rhetorically and she pretended to contemplate it. The cult of trying to make our lives as hard as possible. Yet again they probably thought the same of us.

"Mush, weah's _yer pearl_?" Camelot asked slyly and he paled slightly in alarm.

"I don't know wad ya tawkin bout," he replied stubbornly but nevertheless looked around, making sure nobody else was listening. Once they had seen Mush coming, sure that he would keep us in line, the others had wandered off to finally mind their own business.

"Hope's got him calling her dat now. He's wrapped round her liddle fingah," Camelot kindly informed me and I tried to hide the grin as he blushed. That didn't take long at all.

"She does not," he protested heatedly. "I'm me own man. I just know how ta treat a lady."

"Da lady seems ta know how ta treat you'se," I returned, smirking at his naivety of his own downfall. Yes, woman could be the demons at the gates of hell and the temptress of all evil. I halted from thinking too badly of this girl, remembering she had loaned me her coat.

"Ya know how Hope got her name?" Camelot taunted, sending me a significant look. I thanked her with my eyes, picking up that she was distracting him from attacking me. "All da boys _hope _dat dey'll bed da tease. Den all da boys _hope _dey'll nevah see her again."

"Ya watch yer mouth," he said severely, his eyes flashing in a warning I hadn't seen. Men could be pretty possessive over what they see as theirs. A little part of me, part of me I wanted to poison, wondered if any man would ever do so for me. Camelot didn't break the silence, knowing just how far she could push Mush on the topic of his girls and knew she had reached her limits.

"And it'd do ya good ta listen ta Blink and me fer once instead of frolicking off, doing wadevah ya damn want without any thought ta anybody else," Mush snapped sharply at me, and inwardly my stomach flipped, basking in his acidic anger.

"I didn't…" I started, trailing off when I realized I could give nothing to quell his justified irritation. Remembering how well it had worked with Jack I kept my mouth closed, hoping I couldn't give him any fire to blaze off of.

"When we'se hoid Jack havin a conniption at ya disobeying him again we thought da woist. Ya go out in Brooklyn alone at night da odds are we won't see ya again. Same in 'Hattan."

"I'm sorry fer worrying ya," I said quietly and as convincingly as I could in this half-truth. He spluttered like a fish out of water, staring at me in shock that I had given in so easy. Well, I couldn't disappoint the audience so sharply I added, "But I ain't sorry fer going outside. I ain't a puppet on strings ta be played. I ain't ta be pulled back when ya get sick of playing, when ya decide to change da rules."

"Dats right," Camelot agreed whole-heartedly and Mush looked between the two of us surprised at the sudden alliance, on guard and ready to defend himself like a dog. "We don't need ta be led around by da hand. We got our own minds."

"Well ya don't use dem," Mush growled and Camelot flashed a warning look, both tempers broiling. Typical male mantra. Women were weak and helpless, intellectually inferior and incapable beyond selecting the menu and ensuring the children were taught propriety. I had lived this all my life and very few women seemed ready to protest the idea. "Were ya meeting up wid Spot?"

"What?" I demanded, giving him a warning look as Camelot restrained bristling and kept her mouth shut.

"Prince Charming seemed enthusiastic ta fetch ya," Mush grumbled, playing through cheap shots.

"So he could taunt me and harass me widout Jack stopping him. And knowing him, so I'd think I owed him something," I offered these logical explanations, longing to speak so much more ill of him, but I knew very well with one slip of the tongue I could back myself into a corner only the truth could force me out of. Already the lies were spinning in my mind while Mush lit a match to every emotion Spot evoked, everything I wanted so desperately to forget. "In case yer as hard of hearing at I am, I'se left cause I didn't want ta be round dat pompous, pig headed, son of a gun."

Camelot's eyes closed in self-restraint and I would be eternally grateful she harbored enough resentment towards Spot and sympathized with our tumultuous relationship enough to stay her loyalty. I didn't want her anger too, but the words flowed too freely to be stopped. Mush, like every other man, remained oblivious to her.

"And dats wad has me worrying. If he didn't get undah yer skin so much I wouldn't be thinking yer his challenge, da game Spot nevah looses. I warned ya before, Venice, he's dangerous. He's smooth and has a mouth on him as big as yers, he ain't above lying ta get a goil in bed."

"I know…" I started, raw anger bubbling as I struggled to compress my screams of frustration, fought the words that wanted to flow. I despised being spoken to like I was naïve, was not capable of seeing past a man's charms to the treachery behind his sexy smirk. But common sense blew the trumpet, warning me away. This was trickier than I'd ever think, all these half-truths and explanations, and I couldn't risk admitting my knowledge, furthering their suspicions Spot was trying to work his charms on me. "I know, Mush, I know wad type of guy he is. Don't worry bout me, I know bad news when I see it."

"So do I," Camelot coolly retorted, glaring feircly at Mush who now remembered her blood lineage. The winds of her rage had not turned upon me and I hoped the winds would remain steady or die. "Ya ain't above playing wid goils hearts, ya filthy hypocrite. Ya know wad ya did ta Ranger."

"It ain't da same," he said quietly but he wouldn't use my weaponry against me and beneath his calm expression her words stung like a blunt knife. The words were color-coded and whirled above my head, but the demons in his eyes paid their tribute. My imagination wouldn't stretch to absorb him as a womanizer but her open and desperate look illustrated what I didn't want to believe. Ranger was a friend of Camelot's, that was written all over her, and her loyalty was not only to her brother.

Both fell silent struggling for an anchor, lost and sinking and her expression iced over as his melted. I stood outside luckily, and my empathy was for the both of them.

"I left Blink wid da goils," he excused himself when nothing was left to be said and slipped away moodily as she brooded and stewed.

"Wad do ya wanna do? I could introduce ya ta Gip if I can find her again, or some of da boys…"

"Jack ordahed me ta stay round da boneheads," I said uneasily, looking away shiftily and realizing the boys were already away from us. She did not say a word, her mind somewhere else. It gave me time to admit to myself the only reason I wasn't absolutely enthusiastic to wander away from the former prying eyes was because I didn't want to run into that crazy woman again. Didn't want to admit to myself that I really did. Wanted to hear how she knew me, how she knew what road I'd embark upon.

"I don't know weah Race is…" she mused, shooting me a warning look as a knowing smirk played upon my lips. "Dere ain't nodin going on right now, Ven, and ya tell him anything and I swear you'll be wearing yer face inside out."

"Is dat physically possible?"

"Ya wanna find out?" she threatened and I responded with a challenging smirk…but I really didn't want to give her that opportunity. "Come on, I'se bored, let's go torture Specs or something. See if we can get him into a skirt again."

The empty canvas bloomed before us, waiting for the life we feared to be painted into something we wouldn't revisit in nightmares. Comfortably I sailed down the stairs breathing in a mixture of cheap cologne and beer, racking nerves, sweat, forlorn romance and predatory vexation of a fight brewing- the smell of a party. It was easier to be lost than found, to hide than to be sought, when in whirling colors and glimpses of flawless skin smooth words and movement were all that anybody knew. The philosophy of a party- a place to let loose yet have more problems on your shoulders when you left than when you came.

"Hey Camelot, havin fun?" a voice piped out of those we didn't connect with, grinning down at us contently. His face was familiar in unfamiliarity and as I did a once over on this good looking boy his eyes danced in the light, taking me back to the silence that had invited me to join them. Same boy that had for questionable reasons tried to pull me away from my shell and my shadows to the light they all basked in.

"_But you can't reject everyone. Leaving ya alone just makes ya more afraid. Ya don't want dat. Ya don't want ta escape."_

Perhaps the cryptic mysteries of the crazy bat were unraveling into not so harmless warnings of a woman who couldn't mind her own business. She had been there when he nodded towards me in invitation and had seen herself in my denial. She was just a woman who was too shy, self-conscious, and afraid to join others before and now had regret as her burdening companion, trying to prevent others from making her mistakes. Who was she to presume I was wasting my life being afraid? To be joining others and leaving myself open and vulnerable would be foolish; I wouldn't play that part for any others. I wasn't in the mood for companions. Escape was…what was it?

Something charged my nerves in her words as harmless as they could be dangerous, and the hair on the back of my neck began to prickle. Those other words would not have spilled, the name was not just what she chose to call me as her pet, and she knew more than she was letting on. "She saw it all." She knew it all more like it. Who I was, what I was doing with the heathens, the ghosts of the soul I wanted to get tired and go back to their graves. Finding this woman again no longer became a matter of curiosity. It became a matter of life.

"Ya know Snoddy, right Ven?" Camelot lilted and the name foreign but so aligned with me nudged me away from my circulating thoughts. Her suspicion became conspicuous at my dazed look as I scrambled to recover.

"Its safer ta agree wid you," I shrugged and he snorted in agreement as she blazed up like the beginnings of wildfire, bordering on smoldering or raging out of control. Taking the light jab unlike somebody she's related to she smirked, agreeing heatedly it'd be best for my health.

"Snoddy. And yer Venice," he introduced and the name chimed the collection of names, familiar enough to recall as one of the Manhattan beasts.

"Thanks, I almost forgot," I jested, vibrant warnings shouting when this was so close to the truth. He chuckled, spitting in his hand and I did likewise without hesitation to prove I wasn't disgusted. He was easily pleased by this.

"Its hard ta forget his ugly face," Camelot teased and he feigned a heartbroken look, my eyes automatically rolling. Oh wonderful, we have a comedian I couldn't help thinking bitterly as he tried to pull his face off. Truth be told, this immature comedic relief was welcomed and in greedy gulps I took it in, when such disaster danced around me I needed the high of a party to pump through my veins.

"Ya know, I didn't want to come ovah heah fer yer abuse," Snoddy sniffled, sweat gleaming on his forehead. "Ya ladies wanna join us in abusing dose who had a bit too much liquor."

Camelot's grin spread like wildfire and I caught the affliction as quickly we traded looks, the delights of mischief finally soaring our spirits. No dangerous romances or lectures and no mutterings from prying insane women, just good fun. Our decision was easy and Snoddy already knew it, turning and leaving knowing we would follow. Jollily we stepped on his footsteps, maneuvering through thick throngs of people until he pulled us out into one corner where our mayhem makers were assembled.

"Pie Eater, Dutchy, Specs, Gip is Coney, and Racetrack and Specs I think ya know," Specs introduced pointing to each and they nodded, Dutchy respectfully removing his hat and smiling kindly. I liked him instantly, relieved he wasn't the pompous dickheads I was growing used to.

"Unfortunately," I responded, winking at the two boys who pretended to look mortally offended. Racetrack was most interesting now, boldly staring at Camelot who suddenly became shy. She looked everywhere but at him, the tiny hints of a blush darkening her cheeks. I'd be leading the parade when blushes went to hell. Before a few blinks of the eye she recovered from being a ninny, and stared boldly back and then sticking her tongue out. His farting noise was dead on.

"Silent but deadly, loud and perfumy," the girl, Gip, recited and I finally matched the name with the face. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, tall, pretty, and she seemed to represent anything but that.

"Unless its Race," Camelot snickered, gagging herself and everybody shared a good laugh at his expense. He only smiled, the three of us knowing his fart was fake but a brilliant sound effect, sure to be used next time Jack delivered one of his long winded speeches.

"Look," Snoddy addressed, diverting our attention to some poor unsuspecting soul tangoing with himself, scattered around him the shards of glass of the gin bottle reflecting what once was. His light feet avoided these sharp obstacles, his grin shining for the audience of boys with their backs turned. There's loyalty for you. There he stood, oblivious and enjoying the beauty of his partner that his friends could never deem ugly. Unless they had too much to drink too. My conscious gnawed at me because we were preying on the vulnerable, yet I yearned for the acceptance of the others like I promised myself I never would. This is why I never joined the others before; you were no longer your own mind. But right now I'd do whatever it took, even keep my mouth shut around Spot, for their approval.

"Don't worry, dey nevah membah in da moinin," Camelot reassured me and my expression closed up. She smirked towards the others and threw her hair over her shoulder determinedly, becoming seduction as she slinked towards him. She melted into his arms and his smile was sultry as he brought her close and twirled her around the floor. He wasn't a bad dancer and she was enjoying herself, before winking towards Gip and she cautiously crept beside them. In a blending of seconds they became each other, Gip safely enclosed in his arms as Camelot swayed alone. His glorified expression didn't change as he swung Gip around.

"He doesn't even notice," Specs pointed out, snickering and Dutchy shushed him and the others. Their titters touched a nerve; a cruelty I didn't like. I needed to get a grip. Though he'd done nothing to them, as far as I knew, there was no harm being done. He was dancing with girls and saving himself from humiliation and wouldn't even remember it, it was all in good fun. But it was their mockery. A mockery I struggled through and strived to turn my back day by day, which had fueled Snitch's attack and had given me restless sleep and restless hours of consciousness. Their laughter was a mockery of him and unintentionally they were humiliating him when tomorrow the others would remember and he'd be the subject of teasing. The real life girls had caught some boys' attention as their drunken friend danced when he didn't even realize it, bemused smiles and good natured shakes of their head befalling him harmlessly. Yet it was in the maliciousness of some, and the jealousy of others that was so foreboding and had me turn my head.

Laughing good-naturedly at his wink Camelot pulled me towards him and Gip slipped away as I slipped in. His hand fell to my waist before I could pull away, our hands entwined as I was dragged closer than I'd want to be, a distance that had rarely been crossed until I could smell his sweat, could smell the alcohol on his lips. I did not want to be lead across the floor in a whirl of color, the newsies encouraging faces, strangers bemused and threatening looks, heat tearing through me as I longed to be as light on my feet as he was. He twirled me and I obliged, used to this when I used to dance with my sisters when mother played her piano. His dusty brown hair grew and his features femininely softened until they were hers, his blue eyes glowing into hers as she laughed and we twirled with the April sunshine floating through the open window and warming our backs. Laughter danced behind my lips before it soared out free at last and she giggled musically at our giddiness, our hand me down dresses flying around us as we got dizzier and dizzier. Dizzy until she became four Essie's and I became just a flash of color and time. The scents of the roses that mother had borrowed without permission from our neighbor's garden wafted by with the oil from burned lamps and the dog's pungent odor after the bath we attempted to give him.

Essie's laughter rose as high as mother's highest key and in our matching green pinafores we twirled and danced. Something sticky and warm drizzled beneath my fingers. Blood stained my hands, blood that wouldn't go away as I wiped it upon my green dress. Confused, I looked up at my sister. She was there, her eyes hardened and her laughter as eerily absent as the baby's crying, as present as mother's screaming. Gina was there, sobbing like she had done when she had given me the blame, cradling pale Lily. Poor pale Lily with lips as blue as ice water. Open, forgiving eyes staring back at me as the blood stained her white dress. Trusted me that no harm would befall her as long as I was her sister. A baby's forgiveness, a bay's naivety. She wouldn't make it and I never would again. The blood soaked the floor and mingled with our tears, with the screams, with the truth, with the lies. The day that would begin the rest of my life.

Essie pulled away and desperately I reached out to her, but she jerked away like I was a leper. "Please," I begged, my voice trembling as the first tears fell. She continued to back away; fear lining her eyes she began to fade. "No! Don't leave me! Essie please, I swear I didn't. Don't leave me!"

The shrill shriek dripped into nothing as the blood dripped from my hands and it wouldn't go away as I scrubbed so hard at them, darkening it, burning crevices in my hand. It burned so bad! Stinging a hole into my hand! A scream worked its way through me as I felt torrents of rain that wouldn't cleanse me, and I opened my mouth as the downpour hit. My scream was lost in the rain, lost to the souls of the damned.

"Venice…Lani…" Racetrack called, and I felt his grip draw me away from the suffocating embrace I was falling into, his happy oblivious face mocking me as he continued to twirl around the floor with nobody again. My legs were shaking and I fell back into him, his strong arms my only support. Gasping for breath I clutched him like a child, tears burning my eyes, the burning of my hands fading. I couldn't look at them but found my eyes were stronger than my will, seeing the color of my hand. Turning them over and over again looking for the blood that caught me red-handed. Clean hands, clean hands, and I wrung them again and again, desperate to find what linked me to them, to that horror. To Essie. To my mother. To that wench!

"Venice?" he stated again, shaking me when I drew back from him like he might strangle me.

"Sorry…" I mumbled, begging for forgiveness. I saw him as he was with no blood lining him, no blood on my hands, and I whirled towards the boy I had danced with that I didn't even know the name of. He was still dancing and as I looked back towards my other companions I found they were not watching me, far too involved and amused with this mystery of a drunk.

"Fer wad?" he demanded, pulling my chin up so I'd look at him when I looked away. The words bubbled but I bade them stay as they were, because I wasn't even sure what I was sorry for. For acting so stupid, seeing things that weren't there. Growing insane. Tricking them into thinking I was someone that I wasn't, fooling them into thinking I was human enough to befriend them. For manipulating them, and raising hell and causing them trouble. For being a fucking murderer! I was sorry for all of it, and I wanted to fall to my knees and beg him for forgiveness. So desperately I wanted to be forgiven, wanted to be held and told that I was not as wretched as I was. But I stayed the tears, knowing they couldn't spill. Wanting to know what was real and what wasn't.

"Ya completely zoned out when ya was dancing," he said worriedly, searching my eyes, trying to see my stained soul and the secrets I kept. "Ya started shaking all ovah, tearing up? Wad da hell is wrong?"

The words boiled at my tongue, scratching my throat. I only had to say it and it'd be free. Maybe he wouldn't completely hate me. Maybe I'd be forgiven. And maybe I would start acting like a real lady, go around singing and cleaning, and wearing a bonnet. When hell freezes over. I begged the tears to go away. "Nothing, nothings wrong."

He shook me slightly, not believing me as I tried to get control. My masks froze my face as coldly I stared at him, with a look warning him to remove his arms from me before they were stuffed up his ass. "Are ya all right?"

"Yes I am all right." I could laugh. It was such a lie. I was anything but all right. But none of that mattered now in a world of illusion, if any of it ever did.

"Race," Camelot ordered, flicking her head towards the drunk becoming a fool as he pleaded with himself not to leave him. Racetrack smirked, hearing her cue and addressed the both of us, "Get finished up, we'se leaving soon." With one last concerned look to me he bounded off. I wanted to banish that blood and I forced a smile as Racetrack slipped into his arms, parading them both around, dancing like a crazy drugged up fool. Her laughter burst me from my thoughts as she dragged me over to her.

"Dats wad livin is, a big illusion," she stated once she had pulled me into our private sanctum. Swaying alone at first I copied her, pretending I was involved with the music, becoming one with it so deep that I couldn't hear her. But I wanted to hear her. Wanting nothing more than that and I fought my surprise that I had found an ally with my thoughts.

"It's okay, Venice, ya don't have ta tawk bout wad spooked ya. Dey mean well, dey really do. But dey aren't da smartest headline in da pape," she laughed and I joined her smile, feeling far away and so far from myself. I was breaking away, shutting down. Closing off to myself and putting it away, putting that awful vision away. It was nothing new. Nothing to be disturbed about when I saw them always and forever, even since that awful day that changed everything. A stupid damper of my mood that could easily be recovered.

"Dey care," she said again, softly now, her own eyes glazing over. "Dey care bout ya. Dey wouldn't get so woiked up bout ya goin out, and don't forget. Sometimes knowing someone cares keeps ya going," she said suggestively and I tried so hard to look away but she held me in her look just like her brother once had. She wouldn't let me go, searching my soul, finding flaws and afflictions and softening as she finally let me go. Her voice was soft, pleading. "Please don't leave."

"Leave?" I scoffed, staring at her in surprise. I recognized the desperation in her voice; I felt it as if it were my own.

"Please don't," she repeated, quietly. She looked away like this honesty embarrassed her. As if feeling at all did.

I was caught off guard and unsure what words I should feed her. I didn't know what she wanted to hear, needed to hear. I wasn't sure why she'd say such a thing when I had not mentioned a word. I had made a bet to last two weeks. But she became doe-eyed and pleading, a look that took me back so far. A look that I couldn't betray again. "I'm not going anyweah," I assured her, sounding as sure as I suddenly felt. No, I was not going anywhere. At least not yet.

Smiling softly she offered me her hands and in the trust of a moment I took them, squeezing them in promise. I never made promises I couldn't break, but this one was taking me by surprise; a promise so fragile. That's what disturbed me the most, not Camelot's seeming need for somebody besides the other boys, but how delicate that promise was. How easily I could break it. And how much I didn't want to.

"Two-bits you'll fall down foist," she challenged, raising an eyebrow and I stared at her curiously, wondering what strange plot she had in store now. But she leaned back from our conjoined hands, beginning to move slowly, encouraging me to do the same. I fought gravity as I leaned back, feeling her weight and her pressure as I began to move around in circles. Faster and faster with time and tempo. Faster! Faster! We egged each other on with laughs and smiles, screams of delight and fear as we brushed past people too close, and the hard wall.

Time seemed to slow as a pair of icy blue eyes captivated me. He was back. He was across the room, watching us. I regarded him coolly as his charisma was gone for the place of a raw secret burdening him, bonding him to me. Bemusedly he was watching Racetrack dip the drunk, his eyes following to Camelot worriedly, before finally falling on me. Curiously I watched for once clean hands tremble as he balanced a cup, draining it before I knew he had brought it to his lips and tossing the cup aside. The bottle maneuvered in his hands and he gulped down more until his eyes moistened and his eyes shone provocatively, daring someone to challenge him. Proudly Spot swiveled his head back to me. So unimpressed but so full of awe I watched him as he raised the bottle ever so slightly to me, as if to say 'cheers'.

Time sped up again. Everything was just a whirl of color as our laughter rose higher and I felt more giddy, more relaxed than I had in a long time. We leaned back, defiance to gravity as we spun faster and leaned back harder. I challenged the impossible, my hair flying as cheers and laughter met us like we were in a fierce drinking contest. And I leaned back further because I needed to know how far I could go before I fell.

A/N- Thank you so much to all my loyal reviewers, so, so, sorry I haven't updated in a month. I've got about twenty other pages for this chapter in an "orphans" file, couldn't get this one right. But thank you for putting up with me and I hope you find this chapter good.

Shoutouts

Emba- the truth has a funny way of finding a way out, and for now she's beating it down with a frying pan. Thank you for your review, thank you for keeping up this story, I really appreciate it and I hope you continue to and this chapter was enjoyable.

RaincoatSammy- Wow, thanks, I'm ecstatic you find this interesting. I hope this chapter was enjoyable and I hope you continue to read this. Thanks again.

Morbidly Artistic- thank you so much, I'm terribly happy you are enjoying this so far. The summary took me forever and a decade and I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you continue to like this.

Conlonsgirl- woah, skoure, I'm really glad your continuing to review this and keep up with it. I love getting your reviews, you seem to pick up on everything and then some. Haha, don't worry about the he she thing, I'm sure Spot has a bit of woman inside him. Thank you so much for your awesome review, and I hope (really really) this chapter was okay.


	15. Chapter 15: Flirting with Danger

Disclaimer- No hable ingles.If I don't speak English the man with the iron fist at disney can't make me admit the terrible truth...I don't own newsies. There, I said it. Let me rest in peace.

Father Time entwined the moments that meant absolutely everything until they meant nothing at all, time as trivial as the grass poking through the cobblestones. Moments flashed by in swirling colors and drab grays until they turned into hours, and the hourglass was turned upside down and those hours turned into days. Days became routine- waking up at sunrise to sell papers to people who cared nothing for others, lunch at Tibby's, selling, and then going back to the lodging house but it was not monotony. Not when time wasn't measured through hours and days here. It was through papers sold and fights won, marbles shot and cigarettes smoked, cups of coffee, laughter, brilliant sunsets, midnight wanderings, and our own adventures in a city that changed every day. I was becoming more alive than I ever was before. It was nauseatingly moral and cliché but I couldn't turn my back on it- that the newsies, despite all the flaws in that niche, knew about living life as if it were your very last day on earth.

Now it would be one of the deepest and most obvious lies I'm spinning if I could look myself in the eye and say that I was changing with this flow of life and was being molded into what the newsies smudged faces would be proud to call their own. I would be lying to say that I was changing overnight and giving up all my misgivings about life, my cynical and outright disregard for their authority, and my strong hold to mistrust and the past. But I was changing and I couldn't lie about that. Nothing noticeable but I felt it beneath my skin and flowing in my very veins, rattling my bones, that a change was taking place. For the good and for the bad. But there was something unsettling with that voice, something in the very back of my mind and heart screaming that things would become topsy-turvy. It was the authority of my mind and thus I could not listen to it, only turn my back and try to be a good lil' newsgirl and sell my papers, not give Jack more lip than his reputation could take, and raise as much as hell as I could for the bulls and the high brows.

My not in writing promises hadn't deserted me. I hadn't pushed Jack to take an axe to me while I was sleeping and luckily that party at Medda's had done me more good than bad, at least in the eye's of reputation. Snoddy's, Pie's, and Dutchy's welcoming had left its mark and while I was not entirely accepted at least I was no longer a dirty little whore, the whispers and rumors didn't follow my footsteps as much as before. Even Snitch was forced to lay off me after an anonymous bloody lip served as a harsh warning. Even the bond between Camelot and I hadn't ended with the party and she remained my ally and my only female friend, confider, and co-devils advocate and instigator.

In realistic time I had been a newsgirl, had been fulfilling my end of the bet, for ten days now. As my first week in the lodging house had closed Micah and Bryce showed themselves, loitering outside the butchers and watching as Camelot and I jumped into a puddle and soaked Racetrack through and through. Their know-it-all expressions didn't faze me, didn't broil my temper like they usually did- I didn't give a rats ass if they thought they were right about the newsies, about me. I was ready and willing to admit not all of the newsies were as horrid as I had thought, at least in Manhattan. Some were worse, so it balanced the scale well.

Mush's bemused look drew me away from thoughts that were just as discombobulated as the stained ink upon this paper. "Ya know it's not gonna jist crawl away."

"If it knows its place it will," I growled, eyeing the marmalade stain morphing THE HORSE, SCARLETT, RETIRED TUESDAY into HE HO, SCARLETT, TIRED TUESDAY. It was one page of one paper but it might as well be the entire thing, nobody would purchase a damaged paper just like they wouldn't have flaws in the children they brought up. It was a devastating blow to a newsie that sold only forty papers.

"I wouldn't do dat if I was ya, kid," Kid Blink advised and I gave him the dirtiest of looks. Before I would've simply disregarded him, but now I knew better. Now I knew there was some truth and experience behind that obnoxious voice. Now I just considered him for a second and went on with changing the order the pages came in. "No, bad dog, gimme em."

"No," I protested childishly, pulling the papers away from his hold.

"Venice, most of dem are stupid but dey ain't dat stupid. Dere gonna know it's not da front page," he pointed out, trying to grab the ruined paper away from me. Swiftly I turned my back to him, keeping it mockingly just out of his reach.

"We'll be gone before dey find out," I ordered, shooting everybody a warning glare to run on my command. He played hypocrisy when rarely did any of them bend to the law but I was the biggest hypocrite of us all when I wasn't sure how far I could go. I had a bite of a roll at Tibby's and yesterday Jack had forced me to eat half his sandwich but I hadn't eaten anything else in the past three days- my stomach wasn't happy with food right now. And my body wasn't happy without it but my stomach churned when the juice from Racetrack's stolen apple dribbled down his chin. It had nothing to do with manners; I was the one who had combined peas, catsup, pepper, and hot dog in soup just last week.

"Not a good idea, Venice, ya know da bulls have been eatin' and breathin' catching us street rats. Evah since dose moidahs in Central Park," Mush advised and I didn't want to admit the badged and blue suited overpaid men were living to catch one of us newsies for a hanging. We had no family, nobody important in society, and no protection from the law that was even more unfair since the deaths of some society matrons. The cause- murder. The killer- nobody knew. The suspects- newsies. And there was hardly even a word about the poor and about the newsie that had been murdered four days ago. Who some of the Manhattan boys and girl knew. There was no benefit to the crime when the police were trying to hush the media, so only for one day were the headlines tolerable before they dwindled into dirt.

A hush fell through our little party of selling partners and friends at the awful truth of his words. Not only did we have to obey the law (an atrocious impossibility) to avoid an unfair trial and the noose, but the boroughs were in uproar. Jack had probably been to every neighborhood in New York these last few days. Tried to charm then to unite us all under one banner, but grudges could not be forgotten so easily. He took to the one thing he had authority to completely control, his newsies, and had been doing his best to make our lives impossible. As a girl, the changes hardly brushed me when I never had the freedom the newsboys were privileged with, but his ever present hazel eyes I wanted to gorge out. Racetrack wasn't too happy that there was to be no nighttime frolicking thus no out of lodging house poker games with fresh victims, unless Jack granted us permission (rare to never), but these precautions had to be fleeting. Nothing could last forever. Maybe against a different leader a revolution would've ensued, but Jack was respected and thought of as a father figure. He genuinely cared about the boys and girls he watched over unlike most of the power hungry egotistical selfish leaders, who shouldn't even be considered as leaders and more slave drivers. Nobody even thought much about defying the few rules he'd given us, although we weren't smiling about them.

"It's a bad headline anyway. Page five is more interesting. Listen heah 'DRUNK DONKEY LOOSES BET'. Hey Race, when you change species?" Camelot snickered and calmly he smeared some of his apple spit juice on her cheek. With a squawk of outrage she made a move to throw mud at him, till she abruptly spun away from the rest of us and doubled over, her hair flying as heaving coughs rocked her tiny body. With worried looks we restrained ourselves from helping support her knowing well enough that she'd only push us further away.

"Jack should've forced her ta stay home," I mumbled under my breath and Kid Blink sighed, shaking his head in remorse for our own plight. Jack had been tempted but it was only a cold (we hoped) and she'd probably just sneak out after we had all left.

"I wish it was dat easy but she ain't sick enough ta stay back and loose a day's earnings," he said honestly but I didn't want to hear it. Nobody sick should be working in fifty degree weather and hard wind with little clothing and she wasn't the only one- it was one of the younger boys and Dutchy as well. Racetrack grabbed her before she hit the ground when the coughing completely seized her. "And she ain't well enough ta be out heah."

Some folks seemed to agree with this as they passed us, keeping their distance from her but it was not the usual disgust. With pity they watched us sick kids and I was glad she was looking away or she would've attacked them for such sympathy. I missed the disgust; it was so much better than acting like they gave a damn about us. Not one of them even so much as considered helping us out and buying a paper.

"I think I jist hexed myself. Now I'se da drunk," she laughed, resting comfortably in Racetrack's arms as he supported her until she could feel the ground beneath her feet. So little had happened between the two of them through all the illnesses and chaos the sparks between them were indistinguishable from before. But I knew she breathed in him now, rejoicing in the seconds they had within each other before again they were forced to look away.

I offered her a smile but knew now we had to change the subject. It went like that with everybody who got sick no matter how normal or severe the affliction was. No talking about what we couldn't change and wouldn't answer truthfully to. Thus my eyes wandered back to the stain butchering that paper and hoped marmalade removal would shoot out from my eyes. How did that even get on there?

"I'se finished selling," I declared and just as Mush opened his mouth I threw the stained paper to the ground.

"We bettah be getting back," Mush nodded, gesturing towards the setting sun. No glorious sunsets for us, only the dreary gray that darkened as the cold sun took its lunch break.

It took a silent look for all of us to understand each other. Together maybe we could scrape up enough for papers tomorrow, and if we were lucky rent tonight. It was not in the laugh creases beside Kloppman's twinkling eyes to leave us to the streets and his heart would prevail over his pockets, but accepting that charity was almost worse than braving the streets. Before it was not accepted to refuse his generosity and take to the streets. Now it was forbidden. Selling was rough lately, worse than it was before I had heard. The headlines met their usual awful par, but now it was harder to improve them when the bulls were swinging the unfair law before our every step. It was getting colder and windier earlier, and Camelot could hardly sell a thing. Nobody would touch her paper once they had seen her sniffle. Somberly we traded looks (except for Camelot who wouldn't meet our eyes) and turned away from the dying city to begin the trek home. When I shivered Mush threw an arm around me, probably feeling remorseful for taking away the coat Hope had lent me days after the party without a word of explination. It was easy to assume not all was well in Mush la la land.

The road home was as hard to my tired feet in thin soles as it was to my restless mind. There was something unsettling in this dreary evening, something that had me wary of every twig and leaf we stepped on and everything that went bump in the night. Jack's paranoia had given my own reason to breathe, but I was a New Yorker and fear had always been my life until I couldn't separate fear from security. A fragile fright was ensnaring me- the result of too little food and sleep. I could close my eyes right now from the drone of Racetrack's soft, sad Italian song.

"Dat goil is staring at ya," Mush nudged me and I looked up from watching my feet crush the leaves. There wasn't anybody out but us last time I looked and stealthily I looked around for the eyes that were following me. I found them in blue. Something eerie rested in her unsettling eyes and dark hair. Dressed in a poor homespun green dress she stood underneath the street lamp and stared at me intently, with a frozen expression, but something sinister lay beneath.

"She's a doll. Ya know her?" Kid Blink pressed coming up behind us, shoving me slightly when I hadn't even realized I had stopped walking. Something was stealing my voice and his words I hardly heard. That something sinister was that I did know her. Her face haunted me in nightmares and tormented me in waking moments, a face that I had known so well for years. I thought I had known her too until that day. I didn't even pinch myself; I knew I was not dreaming. I knew this was absolutely real.

"Yeah," I croaked, finally registering his words. It was a big city but it wasn't impossible to see her again- it had been four years after all. She was as lovely as ever but so much had changed about her, something that once sang with life so passionately had faded. A piece of her soul was dead.

I knew she recognized me. And I knew I didn't want to see her. I looked away and pointedly snubbed her and those unsettling eyes, but wouldn't run. Wouldn't quicken my pace to get away from her quicker. She made no move to shout out to me and to attract my attention. But to her this wasn't coincidence. I could tell by glance she meant to be there and she knew I would cross her way.

"Lisolette!" she called and her voice was drenched in such pain, like a lost child's scream forgotten in the wind. I twitched at the name, made a move to keep walking but Mush grabbed my arm and stilled me. I struggled from his hold, trying to wriggle free and released myself but hardly got two steps before he pulled me back to the hangman's memory.

"Can I help ya miss?" Blink inquired, tipping his hat to Eloise. Essie. She didn't move her gaze from me as I gave up my struggle in Mush's hold and bravely faced her with a cold look.

"I have been looking for you," she admitted quietly, forcing her eyes to remain on mine. If looks could kill the ice in my eyes would've frozen her till death. I hadn't forgotten anything, and her sad eyes hadn't either.

"I think yer mistaken, miss," Blink tried to intervene charmingly and she finally removed her eyes and found his. "She ain't yer Lisolette."

"What is it you call yourself now?" she inquired innocently and I didn't want to meet her gaze when I wrestled with my own fear. She was revealing my name, unraveling me by the seams. There was more than one Lisolette in this city, but not many that had stolen from the newsies and soaked their friend near death. If I was to be discovered…

"I don't know any Lisolette," I said coldly and her understanding nearly sent me scampering to a dark hole, to lie there and have the dirt of time bury me from existence like some savage animal. "Me name's Lani. Always has been."

"I know you are angry and you have every right to be," she began, gazing empathetically at me and I refused to let her play me like she used to. That worked once upon a time but now I had control and the will to break away from her manipulation. Her understanding was to decay my fury, but this time it wouldn't work. "It's so good to see you. You have no idea. I thought you were dead when you ran away. It taunted my every dream and moment. No girl can survive on these soulless streets."

"Well I did," I snapped ferociously. Suddenly I wanted her to know what the worlds become, what I have become. I wanted her to see every bruise and every tear, I wanted to rip into her until she was crawling like the betraying beast she was. "I'se lived on da streets for four yeahs, when dey wanted me dead. I've got da scars ta show fer it. I ain't a guttersnipe no more. I'se a newsie. And just who do ya think ya is ta be showing yer face now? Ya nevah bothered to help before, ya never even bothered to show yerself when I needed ya. Get out of heah, Eloise. Get out of heah before ya get hoit."

"I didn't…" she was choking back tears as she reached out an arm to touch me and I jerked away from her. But I knew her well, and I knew she was stunned but her pain lay beneath my words. Something was not right with her, something deeper. This was just no friendly visit that was long overdue. I hardly heard her when she continued. "I know ya didn't murder Lily. But we were so afraid. So afraid and so confused."

"I could've," I said, trying not to be overwhelmed but she played manipulation well and caught me at unawares, reopening wounds that never healed right. The blood from the years had taken me by surprise, the blood that never wore off. "I did."

"You remember?"

"No. You know I don't know what happened. But all that blood…"

"I don't know, Let, I don't know. But I do know something I don't want to know. Ignore what they tell you, knowing is worse than not." I didn't understand her and didn't understand this, but I didn't want to run. I didn't know what I wanted when everything contradicted itself, my mind and my heart in vicious battle. So deeply I wanted to hate her but I wanted her to accept me once again, I yearned for her affection, the blood link that I hated.

"I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm sorry for mother and father acting the way they did, and I'm sorry for believing Gina. But you have to listen to me, you have to trust me one more time." She was near pleading now, tears falling down her cheeks and I didn't want to see my sister like this. So afraid, so deeply in pain. She was never like this when I knew her; everything would be just another day, every day the sun would come out even in the worst storms and darkest nights. It took all my misgivings away from her- it wasn't her I hated for not believing in me. It was that she was a link to the past that hurt more than the memories. And I wanted to trust her. I wanted somebody to believe in me just one more time. "I can't tell you everything or they'll know. You're in danger. You can not tell them anything, you can not help them no matter what they tell you or do to you."

"Who?" I was so sick and tired of this. It was just a repeat of that crazy woman. I didn't want cryptic messages or riddles, I didn't have the time or the patience for it.

"I can't tell you," she sobbed, grabbing my hands and looking me hard in the eye. "Listen to me, you didn't murder Lily and you didn't help mother die or father do what he did to you. Please, you have to believe me, you have to believe it. They'll use it to hurt you. They'll use whatever they have to win you over. They'll offer you everything you desire, they'll know what haunts you, they'll know more about you than you know yourself. You can't accept anything they offer you. You can't listen to anything they say. You can't help them ever.

"So yer jist anuddah person trying to control me," I grumbled, turning away from her and from this. I couldn't hear what she said, and I didn't want to take the issues I was being ordered. I'd done my best to obey what Jack said lately, had done my best to listen. But here was my estranged sister who hadn't been around me for five minutes and was already commanding me. I was not some child to be led around by the hand. I could take care of myself damn well, I'd done it for years. Mistrust was the game I played, and I didn't need to be told once to not listen to most.

Her look of desperation halted me and grounded me to what was happening, took me away from selfish thoughts, and took me to a place I despised- where the truth roamed. Her voice cracked as she bottled in the tears. "Please. Your life, my life, at least depend on it."

"Eloise, wad are you talking about? This isn't some script from one of your books, is it?" I reasoned, logic prevailing and begging for her to start laughing and to take away this dread. She only stared at me with a complete loss of hope.

"No. This is frighteningly real. I'm sorry but I can't say anymore."

"Why not?" I wailed. None of this was making any sense. Lives couldn't rely on mine, I was no heroine.

"I've said too much already. I have to go."

"Where?" I screamed. I was just as lost as I'd been during that terrible fever and couldn't understand why my sister couldn't stay with me. She couldn't just reappear when it suited her, and abandon me when it fit her best.

"I wish I could tell you. Please, keep yourself safe and away from them," she begged, embracing me quickly. I didn't have time to wrap my arms around her before she pulled away and studied me softly. "You're getting so beautiful. Like mother.

"Watch over my sister," she sternly addressed the dumbfounded newsies, awaiting an answer for closure and Racetrack shook himself free, nodding grimly.

"She's one of our own," he assured her, squeezing my hand comfortingly. Unable to breathe I stared miserably at him when I did not want to bring the newsies, my friends, into this devastating mystery. Especially not with the kindness they'd shown me, that right now they were revealing I was not as much of an outsider as I had always been. My heart compressed and I tried to pull away from those dangerous thoughts; I couldn't get too attached to anybody. I would just leave or they'd forget to stay.

"Newsies stick together," Camelot confirmed and Eloise raised her eyebrows, surprised at finding another girl in this pack of street rats. "Our lives belong to each oddah."

"Dats Camelot and Racetrack. Dose are Kid Blink and Mush. And I'm Venice," I introduced, feeling as if I was meeting her for the first time. Figuratively speaking I was, at least this frightened side of her and after so many years. She smiled sadly, nodding and backing away, fear lining her eyes. The image was so familiar and the vision I had the night of the party bombarded me. This time it was not fear of me but fear for me, for us all. I didn't want her to leave me, wanted to fall begging for her to stay, for her to tell me everything, for her to tell me again and again that none of this was my fault, so I could help save her, and just to feel her fresh presence. But just as I couldn't force her to stay in my vision I couldn't make her stay with me now. She was gone before I could breathe again.

The wall behind us supported me as I fell back against it and longed for it to open wide and swallow me whole. There was no escaping this now, and fate's victory left me lightheaded. I wasn't sure how to react and how to feel when so much whirled within me, tears swallowing my breath so I couldn't breathe nor cry. Topsy-turvy. A cruel and desolate place where I walked alone and nothing made sense, I wasn't sure if it ever would. The relief at reuniting with my sister channeled my breathing before I fainted, and began the long healing process for that wound, but it was just the beginning. So much had to be done, had to be said, before either of us could begin to heal. It was a disgusting euphoria when so much was in disaster but Essie no longer thought of me as a vicious murderer; she had helped me believe I hadn't murder my infant sister, reopened that mystery. If I hadn't done it, who had? My memory wasn't right, it never was, I had been too misled and manipulated until I couldn't separate the lies from the truth.

Everything she had said came racing back to me in a tidal wave of regret. How could I fight a faceless enemy? How could I battle what I couldn't see, what I didn't know? Change until my feet were not supported by the ground I walked on, abandonment and the slow creep of voices in the night prickled the hair on my neck. But what truly frightened me- wounds of old that had been reopened and the stain on my soul, failure, trust, vulnerability and weakness. And the truth. She had said they will know everything about me and every stain on my soul, deprivation in my heart. The truth was something nobody could fight. And when lives depended on that impossibility how could I fight my own weaknesses.

I spun around in a violent outburst and couldn't control anything as everything unraveled around me, couldn't even control myself as my feet united with the wall. Frustrated and confused I slammed my foot into the wall, trying to do my support damage harm, trying to take away some of everything. My foot began to throb as I was trapped in this insanity. I couldn't control a faceless enemy, I couldn't control my sister staying, and everything was falling away from my power. I longed to be too powerful to ignore. I longed to have the power to at least control myself and my outbursts.

I collapsed into the wall, leaning my feverish mind against the cool of the building and pushing myself away with my hands until the brick gritted into my palms. Like a small helpless child I allowed Mush to pull me away from the wall and doing myself any more injury, to fall into his arms. I needed to breathe in the smell of something else besides this suffocating air and buried my face into his chest, taking him in- the newspaper ink and tobacco that soothed my nerves against his own racking nerves and tense confusion. I tried to control the few tears that were escaping, gulping air again and again, but why bother controlling that when I couldn't control anything else.

My pride was unfortunately still in my control and despite how overwhelmed I was now I couldn't abandon it. Choking the tears back I pulled away from awkward affection and reluctantly he allowed me to go.

"Dat was yer sistah?" he warbled, his warm and innocent eyes clouded with worry and confusion. I could only nod and hope in all that was said they had forgotten the name but it seemed so trivial now when the ground was opening beneath my feet.

Racetrack chimed in, "She ain't from da crazy place is she?"

It would've been so simple to lie and draw the others away from this, but I couldn't bring myself to slander her name and for once I didn't want to shut the others out. "No. She's saner than I am," I whispered and he nodded, not ever really believing a word he said. I was building a card house- one wrong move, one more breath of air and the whole thing could come tumbling down. I needed to end this awkward silence; they were awaiting explanations I couldn't give. "I don't know what she's talking about wid dis danger of hers. Its New York, we're all twice-damned."

"It ain't safe out heah. Not fer any of us," Kid Blink advised, avoiding my gaze as he pushed ahead of us and beckoned for us to follow obediently. There was no reason to stand here in the cold and I followed absent-mindedly, gooseflesh crawling up my skin, prickling the back of my neck.

"Ya lived on da streets for four yeahs?" Mush inquired in awe and despite all that had happened and all the questions that could be voiced his mind had snagged on that petty detail. I rolled my eyes bemusedly for this typical male- it was the only was to earn their respect and appreciation.

"Welcome to da land of our faddahs," I snorted. Some great city this was, where children were orphaned and abused, where mothers sat by their windows like ghosts of memory and dreamed of an escape from this cruel society and their crueler husbands. Where husbands worked themselves till death just to keep their name above slander. I didn't know what the immigrants coming in ship loads into Ellis were escaping from, but I knew where they were coming to and I wanted to shout and warn them to turn back around.

I avoided their gazes when silence fell. I knew from the glances they kept shooting at me and how behaved they were acting questions bordered their tongue and their lips. They wanted to open their mouths and scream questions without receiving answers. They understood enough, they could relate enough, to know their answers would be given in silence. I could not speak a word, I didn't want to, especially when every word she said relived in my head twice over until my head span. I didn't understand it any more than they did. But right now all I wanted was my sister to believe in me once again.

Drunk off thought I blinked stupidly when nicotine tickled my nose, cravings emblazoned and my throat dried out for wheezing coughs. The smoke danced in blue light before me, shape shifting and dancing a ballet. It had materialized for my own cravings, an evil temptation that I was too vulnerable now to ignore. I needed a smoke so badly but I knew that I could get arrested for smoking in public since I dared to be female. It wasn't exactly praised in the world of the newsies either, and I had done my best to be a good newsgirl lately. But hey, when in Rome do as the Romans do.

"Can I bum a smoke?" I requested innocently, playing my best doe eyed and pitiful face for all it was worth. I was fully prepared to fight for my right and to flirt shamelessly. I ignored Racetrack's warning cough as smoke was blown into my face and I waved it away impatiently, my temper already on edge but now broiling from this rudeness. "Hey asshole, I'm right heah!"

"Can I help you?" a familiar pompous voice demanded and I stilled myself- this was just the cherry on top of a terrible day. My bad mood gave me the advantage, but also gave him one. It was all how the game would be played. He didn't even do me the gratitude of acknowledging me; he'd rather be watching the ash fall from his cigarette than look at me. It was killing two birds with one stone, and I'd be damned if I let him get away with it.

"Yeah. Go back ta yer litter," I stabbed and his eyes flashed in a danger I thrived on, his head tilting so he could calculate me. I knew I had his fullest attention now. "Wad about respect and mannahs?"

"Since yer new heah I don't expect ya ta have any," he retorted coolly and I smiled as sweetly as I could, the epitome of the 'go to hell' look when nothing could be said.

"And I don't expect ya ta have much," I taunted knowingly, letting my eyes trace him up and down and linger over his manhood. The snickers I heard behind me gave life to my smarmy little smirk and proudly I regarded him, smiling innocently as his eyes darkened and glinted dangerously. I welcomed the fight, I courted the battle of wits that would distract me from all else. I hadn't had the joy of fighting with him and the displeasure of knowing he was alive since the night of the party when a point of no return had been reached and we had both turned away from it. His soft lips upon mine, the passion that had exploded, had not been forgotten but stored deep away like a forgotten dream…or a nightmare. I knew he had not forgotten either as he took a step towards me, his hands resting provocatively on my hips. I avoided feeling his soft touch, with garlic warded away the feelings I didn't want him to evoke. I knew with every movement of his lips would be another way to break me- I hadn't recovered from the emotional promise he had made to me at the party. I knew better now. I knew just how far he went and then drew away from.

"Ya wanna see just how much I got?" he whispered aggressively, and his hand crept against my back trapping me against his body. I knew I couldn't struggle or it'd be assumed he had the desired effect on me. I wouldn't let him win this. Not now and not ever.

"I wouldn't be able to see a thing," I challenged, smirking as his eyes severely darkened but that was the only hint he was not perfectly in control. That I was not perfectly in his control.

"Ya don't think I'se a real man?" he growled, his hand running along my hip. I tried desperately to ignore it, to deny how deeply I wanted those arms to hold me without this game that we were playing.

"Oh no Spot, I think yer a boy," I emphasized, gazing into those beautiful blue eyes that could be so cruel. His teeth clenched as he pulled me closer to him, his strong breath evoking a fire inside of me, giving birth to gooseflesh. His effect was strong but I wouldn't let him know it and stubbornly stared into his eyes, refusing to look away and admit defeat. I breathed up at him, "A boy playing leadah."

"I don't play leadah," he snapped and his arms stiffened, longing to shove me far away from him. I smirked with the essence of power since I now had the upper hand. "I is a leadah but you wouldn't know bout dat."

"Yer right, I wouldn't," I manipulated honestly, until he realized he had just set himself up for an insult and he lowered his lips to mine. Off balance he couldn't attack with the insults he dreamed up, not when I knew he thought he was loosing his sister and Jack's newsboys to me. His lips caressed the edges of my mouth, tingling once he removed them, burning. My eyes fluttered as I fought my own internal struggle, forcing my mind to work against this trickery when it failed. His soft lips brushed mine angelically like the softest touch from the first snowflake before the blizzard froze everything you treasured. I tried to push away from him but his grip only tightened. "Don't touch me, Conlon."

"I was thinkin, Venice," he started, his lips still so close to mine.

"A thought crossed yer brain? Must've been a lonely journey," I smart-mouthed him and he hardly seemed touched by this insult. Not when he knew he could get the upper hand back.

"Why won't ya let me touch ya when everybody else does?" he whispered into my neck and my heart pounded, trying to absorb what I wasn't being fed, trying to understand words my mind refused to process. Whore-the name had not danced with my shadow in days but it never seemed to leave, and I could ignore all that and the times I've been leered at by dirty old men buying a paper and hoping to buy so much more, any degrading look any time I'd been backed into a corner with everyone's heads averted. I could ignore all that if he hadn't uttered those words without regret, without any indication in his cold eyes that this was just a lie for the revenge he needed. The chills and the heat-flash that manifested from his rhythmic breathing softened the words that pinpricked tears in my eyes, and made them hurt all the more.

"I ain't nevah stopped ya," I breathed with a trembling voice and his own putrid self-assurance took it as my weakness in his holy presence and not my voice just trying to refuse such disgusting words. Sultrily I pressed further into him, gazing worshiping and longingly up into his grin. His own arrogance blinded him as he leaned down towards me, believing that after so much trial he had finally won. So close our lips danced hardly a breath of wind could perforate the air between us, and so strong did I feel his resonating energy my hand slowed over his chest as I breathed in all of him, eyes fluttering naturally and my senses began failing. I almost forgot what I had meant to do. My leg inched up until he was mine, his tumultuous eyes and his gorgeous lips beating my heart quicker. As our lips softly brushed I jerked my knee up, watching his face proudly. Alarm crossed his face at the sudden realization, like the understanding of death before the final blow, and just as my knee brushed him he leapt away from the fiery pits of pain.

"Crazy witch," he growled and I was too tired to play any more of his games.

"I don't want ya touching me, Conlon, cause I don't want your slut germs. Who knows wad some of dose ninny's were carrying. Just cause yer some low life leadah doesn't give ya da authority ta be a certified jackass," I snapped. I remembered his expression that night of the party, I remembered what haunted him and the words that still haunted me. I calmed myself, sincerely and quietly looking up at him. "Ya feel remorse fer wad ya do, who ya are, ya can't lie bout dat. Why keep going, Spot? Cause eventually you'se gonna run out of people who'll defend ya."

Stunned he stared back at me as my words cut into him like the switchblade he carried in his boot. I had finally touched a nerve in the enigma he was, had reached his deep fear. In this darkening blue haze and his soft vulnerable expression he seemed nearly human and like the boy who had grown up too quickly, who lost himself for his newsboys and sister.

Finally his senses came back to him. He was irate as he tossed his golden hair out of his eyes and pinned me with the hardest glare until the pressure upon my chest was nearly as bad as his for the truth that he knew. My understanding was sincere but mocked him as he fought with humility against the reputation he treasured, from the hatred and pain he kept well hidden. Perhaps this was the downfall of a great leader and the rising of an even greater one. Yet he swallowed the torment and the truth, for the mirror image he wrapped himself tight in, where he couldn't be harmed because nothing was real. He took the steps between us two at a time until I had backed into a brick wall, about to dodge to the right until his hand came slamming down at the side of my head. Warily I moved to the other side but knew that hand would come down as well so I didn't jump so much that time. His hands trapped me, his body leaving me there.

His lips lowered to my neck and softly caressed it. Too out of breath, too vulnerable, I didn't stop him. The kiss was punishing, mechanical, as he pressed into me and the sensations he kindled were doused as soon as they began. The terribleness of it was not the kiss, but the proclamation that I was his, and I could not escape from his sweet lullaby until he had washed his hands of me. There'd be no fighting it, no denying it, only to feel his touch until it was too much to behold.

"Leave her alone, Spot," Camelot ordered threateningly but he did not answer to anybody but himself. Yet the voice of his sister grounded him to females and finally he did pull away, both of us out of breath, but only one of us who was fighting tears. This would never be over until I let him dominate me or this would continue forever, and right now I didn't have the mental stamina to fight him much longer. Tentatively I touched my bruised lips, looking up into those cold, cold blue eyes.

His spit reached my feet and he glowered down at me in disgust. To have such a womanizer in disgust with me had me feel so unclean, so cheap, a feeling I did not know before. I didn't know how one person could have such a degrading effect. "I don't waste me time on sluts."

"And yet yer self absorbed," I mused after him as he removed the cigarette from its hiding place behind his ear, purposefully blowing smoke into my face. The smoke that had begun this confrontation, and I turned my head away from it, now disgusted by this putrid destressor. He didn't look back at me twice as he sauntered coldly away and not in the direction of Brooklyn. I didn't care as long as it wasn't here.

"He can be a real bastard sometimes," Camelot growled and if my head wasn't spinning from the caress of his lips I would've thought Spot halted for a moment, her words lingering in his ears, before he pressed onwards. It would've been a great victory for me to have him know I drew his sister to the dark side but if he'd actually heard her I couldn't imagine him not confronting it.

"I'll drink to dat," I agreed bitterly, spitting on the ground the remnants of all he does to me.

"Ya shouldn't taunt him like dat, Venice," Kid Blink warned angrily and my temper, every emotion Spot broke, was still too close to boiling point. Furiously I whirled on him and his one eye shone in surprise.

"I shouldn't taunt _him_? Wad about wad he does, Patch Boy, wad bout him calling me a slut? That's all good and fine cause he's Spot Conlon, da damn leader of da damned, and ya can't go against pretty boy cause his egotistical half-a-brain self won't heah da truth."

"Calm down, he didn't mean nothing by it," Mush soothed as he pulled on my arm but I shook him off viciously. Kid Blink glowered down at me, his voice rising when I attempted to speak.

"Well ya weren't trying too hard ta keep da peace! 'Hey asshole, I'm right heah.' 'Go back to yer litter'," he mocked cruelly, his twittering high pitched voice digging deeply under my skin. With his tone alone he was attacking me, saying my words had been those of a cheap whore's, or a stuck up disaster of a girl.

"It's rude ta blow smoke in someone's face," I protested heatedly.

"Yeah, and ya shouldn't even be using dose woids goily," he rebutted. Camelot made a sound like an angry cat as he attacked the strict rules for females, crossing the line.

"Oh so dats wad dis is bout," I said quietly, dangerously, the anger suppressed in my hardly even tone. I stepped around him like a skillful predator and warily he watched me, not leaving his back turned and I slinked up to him, gazing coldly into his nervous eyes. "I shouldn't have said a thing cause I'se female. Should've left him and his 'I carry a cane, worship me' self alone because everything he says or does ta me I deserve. He says I'se a slut so I am one, right?"

"No," Kid Blink said quietly, his eyes softening. "Ya ain't a slut no mattah wad he says. Ya just shouldn't be taunting him, none of us should, he's an ally but he's dangerous. Because yer female he ain't gonna soak ya, its dat he'll try ta get ya in his bed."

"Never understood it but goils can't seem ta resist him. Ain't nevah seen one toin him down," Racetrack chimed in, supporting his friend and my anger began to crawl back inside me leaving me with this shame. "He likes a challenge, Spot does, and we don't want his next challenge to be you. Though it looks a little too late fer dat."

"Must we go ovah dis every time he shows his holy self," I snorted, every lecture I'd gotten about Spot now becoming monotony, another routine, something else to measure the time with. "I know it boys, but I ain't no milksop waiting ta fall into his arms. And I won't be jumping in his bed either. Have a liddle trust in me."

"Dats wad dey all say," Mush mumbled, his eyes far away as he wrestled for anchorage in a memory he did not want. The newsies had a life before I had joined with them and it was obvious in that life I knew nothing of that our sweet and naïve Mush had known someone who fell victim to Spots enchanting spell. I refused to be another notch to his bedpost, and another victim somewhere in their eyes.

"But I mean it." The strength in my voice was surer than I felt, and I wasn't sure whether I could add this to my bedpost of lies. In my mind and with all good reason this was no lie but wherever those eyes and lips ignited passion sang that it wasn't even my desire. I had control over so little, but my desires were my own, and I wouldn't let Spot Conlon, king or no king, steal them away from me.

"Just try not to get under his skin so much," Racetrack advised. "I don't mind if you ruffle his feathers, we need some humor round dis joint lately. Just don't push him to da point of no return. No more manhood comments, missy."

"Or lack thereof," I retorted and they snickered, all but who the darkest piece of twilight shadowed. Darkness was veiling our eyes but she was still framed against the building, leaning against it like a spirit. The wind tossed her hair as her eyes glinted towards us like a lantern in the dark, eerily ghostlike, and the slightest amount of fear crawled up my spine. I didn't want to loose what I had worked so hard to gain with Camelot; I'd completely forgotten about her and her loyalty to her brother. She hadn't said a word though, wasn't even giving a glare worth her brother's; she was simply staring like she saw something in me I did not see. Like she saw past us all. It was unnerving and I didn't want her unsettling eyes penetrating me, but I could do little since I had to have offended her. Could only wait and hope she'd tell me what she saw.

The window above creaked open like a haunted mansion and my eyes snapped up there, instinctively pressing against the building in attempts to hide. A head poked out, squinting in the falling darkness, and I let out the breath I was holding at finding a pair of glasses and the boy who owned it peering down at us. I hadn't even realized this was the lodging house. "Wad are ya doing?"

"We stopped outside fer a smoke," Racetrack called up in a lie that I know he did not want to tell. It pained him to lie but it was just a tiny white one that could help more than it could harm.

"Well get inside. It's getting dark and its cold out dere," Specs ordered sternly, backing inside the bunkroom and closing the window, leaving us to the silence of the evening. I hadn't felt it much before but now the chilling wind nipped harshly at me, the cold temperature itself crawling around and gooseflesh that had nothing to do with fear or Spot rose.

"Ya hoid da captain," Kid Blink stated and the door was pushed open, leaving a golden glow on the streets until it cracked shut again. Mush followed him inside and held the door open, waiting for the rest of us and we had nothing else to do but to follow. Racetrack ambled through the door and I fell into step beside Camelot.

"I'm sorry," I whispered guiltily beneath my breath so no others could hear those syllables, a phrase I was becoming too familiar with, words that were still hard for me.

"He can be a real jerk. But he ain't all bad," she responded by way of accepting my apology and relief spread its wings. Before the argument would've broiled and exploded, but she didn't seem to want to continue it, probably didn't even have the energy to. The weather and her cold had taken its toll on her and she looked just as tired as Jack, and I looked closer. I heard her whenever I woke up during the night, tossing and turning, or I'd hear the soft ruffling of turning pages as she wrote and read or painted by the light of the moon. I knew tonight would be another sleepless night but now probably for the both of us.

"Venice." The breath was knocked from me and I collided painfully with the corner of Kloppman's desk as something hard slammed into my chest.

A/N- vuala, there was another chapter of this crazy chicks story. Thank you to anybody who is reading this and keeping up with it, its truly appreciated more than can be expressed through human words.

Shoutouts

MorbidlyArtistic- I'm extremely happy you enjoyed it. Yes, Camelot and Venice are still friends even with Spot huffing and puffing their house down. Thank you very much for the review, I hope this chapter was up to par. :)

Emba- Sometimes the past and how we overcome it is what truly defines us. and then there's the whole its good for a plot type thing. sorry, not making sense. There will be more Racetrack and Camelot scenes and evolution once Batman and boy wonder (formerly known as Spot) and Venice's relationship (whether fighting or not) evolves. which is pretty much like now or soon. anyway, sorry for the rambling, thank you very, very much for the review. There is no joyto describe someone's when their workis liked. I hope you continue reading and reviewing, and enjoying this story. :)

RaincoatSammy- thank you so very much for the reviews, its greatly appreciated that your keeping up with this story. I'mtrying to keep the story detailed without getting boring. hopeI did alright with this chapter. :)

That's all folks,

...still can't decide on a pen name.


	16. Chapter 16: Conlons Dangerous Duet

Swearing up and down like a sailor I bit back the tears as the breath flew from me in rapid bursts, my back again becoming intimate and painful friends with Kloppman's desk. I swear Kloppman should cushion that thing. Outraged I scoured the room for anything I could attack, found a lovely specimen in Jack, but I needed my revenge on what had just barreled head first into me. Bemused and confused faces met mine and hesitatingly I let myself hear the voice. And attached to it was a mop of long curly brown hair.

"Betchya I scared ya, huh? I'se been waiting forevah. How come it took ya so long ta come back heah? I was getting worried. I thought da bums who got me got you too. Weren't expecting me, were ya? Did I hoit ya? Micah says I shouldn't use dose woids of yers since they're bad. Neither should you'se. Unless dats wad newsies do. Is dat wad newsies do? How come it took ya so long ta come back heah?"

"I swear I didn't do it yer honor," I laughed, pulling the small boy leeched to me back a little so I could move from the deathly corner edge of the desk. My surprise couldn't be measured in words and neither could the joy as I finally got a good look at the eight-year-old still bombarding me with questions. They once grew on my nerves so much I'd walk two blocks out of my way to avoid the never ceaseless questions, but my heart swelled I had missed them so much. I had really missed him, but my arms did the talking as I threw them around his waist, pulling him towards me harder than he'd jumped at me.

"Ew, yer gonna give me yer goil germs," he whined, struggling against me slightly for the amusement of the others and for his macho male attitude. My laughter was restrained a little as I remembered the last time I'd held him. When he was with bruise and scars.

"Yuck," I grimaced, sticking my tongue out at him. "I ain't no goil."

"I know, yer Lani," he giggled and I'd be eternally grateful to this smart kid; obviously the older boys had informed him of my new identity and thankfully he knew how to play his cards right. I was saved from a load of explaining.

"Hows it rolling?" I inquired, brushing the hair out of his sparkling green eyes so I could see the lingering memory of the beating he'd gotten by forces out of anybody's control. Its remnants were still there although the swelling had gone down quite a bit, and only a greenish yellow tinge remained. "Does it hoit?"

"Nope, I don't even know its dere," he grinned proudly and I attempted a truly astonished look when I wanted to snicker. "Guess wad! I grew dis much," he informed, showing me with pinched fingers. It was only a centimeter or two but he had grown in ten days. Miraculous stunts from eight year old boys. He was only four or five inches shorter than me and I winced at my vertically challenged self.

I let out a soft whistle and said, "Soon yer gonna be pushing Bryce round."

"You betcha," he said determinedly and behind him an indignant cough resounded. Guess who else had come to visit.

"Hey buddy boy," I greeted cheerfully with a wink, pretending we weren't just plotting his demise. Bryce gave me a good glare from his perch on the stairs and probably would've flipped me off if it weren't for Caleb watching. "Oh how the suspense builds! Watcha doin in dis part of town?"

"We was in da neighborhood," he responded airily and my eyes narrowed as he played his little game. I didn't want to admit my mounting curiosity and give him that much more satisfaction, but I was itching to know what they could possibly be doing here. Nervously I sent a look to Jack who serenely studied me just so I had no idea what he was thinking- they couldn't possibly be giving away the bet, and they better not be saying anything that could raise suspicions. They better not be saying anything about it at all. "Can't a couple of ole friends visit ya?"

"No. And if ya know wads good fer ya you'll tell me," I growled much to Caleb's enjoyment, and much to mine as the others snickered. His ego was suffering the longer he held out on me, being commanded by the likes of a girl.

"I see da newsies ain't tamed ya," he grumbled good-naturedly and defiantly I raised my chin.

"And nobody evah will."

"Ya haven't been giving poor Kelly heah too much hell, have ya?" Bryce retorted and Jack scoffed as my head shook. "Den again he seemed pretty surprised we was friends of yers."

"Ya didn't seem like da social type," Jack defended himself as my glare darkened; only causing the others to laugh at his plight. He stiffened, his magnificent ego suffering a blow at their mockery and his eyes hardened as they settled on me. Proudly he declared, "I can handle a goil just fine, Bryce."

"Aw, she ain't a goil," Bryce snorted and I was caught between glaring and giving him a good kick or agreeing whole-heartedly.

"Watch out, Bryce, she don't hit like one," a familiar voice warned and my grin broadened as another came into view, leaning back on a chair so two of the legs were suspended in the air.

"Wads dis, Ven? Ya been cheating on us?" Racetrack accused, feigning anger as he gestured wildly at the three boys. "We'se been traded in fer a half-pint who ain't five feet yet!"

"He's more man than you'll evah be, Racetrack Higgins," I retorted coolly, winking to Caleb to ease his confusion and he beamed with the attention.

"Dats Caleb, Micah, and Bryce. Ole' friends of Venice 'pparently," Jack explained and several expressions were lightened as the newsies greeted them.

"But dat still don't explain wad dey's doin heah," I chimed in. "I don't mind Caleb, he can stay. But da rest of you'se bums…"

"Cool it, lil' girl," Micah advised to my teasing, taking out the cigarette dangling between his lips and offering it to Jack who greedily took it. "We had business heah. Fer some reason Caleb wanted ta see ya."

"I missed ya," he admitted and I smiled down at him, something inside melting at this confession. I hadn't realized my attachment to them but it was there in his sparkling eyes.

"I missed ya too," I acknowledged slowly before sending an inquiring look to the two older boys, pleading with them silently. If stress could gray your hair instantaneously I'd look half-dead by now. I did not want them to say how they knew me, or knew I was here; I did not want them to raise the suspicions by a hair for the newsies and give them even more reason to mistrust me for my deception.

"Den ya shoulda come back sooner," Caleb proclaimed, demanding my attention and reluctantly I stopped scowling at the others to take his little hand in my own.

"I'll follow da trail next time," I promised and he giggled contently; there are those moments we wonder what it would be like in another's shoes, what would we see, what would we hear, what would we feel. I wanted to fall into his shoes, a time when the world made sense before the sun grew colder, and I wanted to feel the trust of a promise. It wasn't in him to believe my promise would be broken, no matter how silly it was. He was sheltered, he was one of the lucky one's, and he could see the world like none of us did. Some maternal instinct in me had me hold his hand just that much tighter to keep him protected from all he could not know yet, to keep him mine.

"I have ta agree wid da runt…"

"Spot," I muttered, the runt in another places. I wasn't earning any karma points with Jack and I offered him an apologetic grin. "Sorry, reflex."

"Spot?" Micah wondered in bemusement, his voice coloring with an agitation only Bryce and I could hear. Good, they'd only seen me once or twice, both devoid of Mr. mommy- couldn't-even-love-me. Yes, Spot Conlon, my tormentor, the bane of my existence, who I couldn't turn away from. Isn't that nice, boys.

"Leadah a Brooklyn," Jack informed them absent mindedly and I avoided the looks of my selling partners, presuming and accusing, and I could not figure which one boiled my temper more. Annoyed he snapped at me, "Don't interrupt me again. Ya make it a bit too close ta curfew every night fer me comfort."

"See that in the sky. That's called the sun. So how bout yer face only turns red when it goes down," Camelot said and he glanced out the window to find the last remnants of light fading and the five of us tucked safe away in his presence. His gaze transformed into a glower for her lip.

"How bout ya shut yer mouth before a bloody lip reddens_ your_ face," he threatened and she crossed her arms stubbornly, their scowls ricocheting off each other and hitting the rest of us. She'd never give in and as long as he was leader of this lodging house and one of Spot's few friends neither would he, and in alarm I watched his fists clench. Her hand. It clenched in reaction, in warning, in defense. A not-quite-silent, not-quite-discreet, not-quite-obvious touch of that hand relaxed it. Racetrack softly brushed the top of her hand and her slender fingers flexed reaching out for him but he recoiled, and forsaken her hand (now relaxed) fell by itself as his dove for the protection of his pocket. I didn't know how long they'd be satisfied with stolen glances, and Mush's stiff form and suspicious look caught my breath. He'd seen the subtle, not-quite-there exchange. "Camelot…"

"Sorry," she mumbled for her tone before quietly adding, "Though it ain't dark yet Candlestick Boy."

"Ven," Jack addressed, wisely choosing to ignore her. "Take Caleb upstairs wid ya and show him round. Camelot ya go too."

It was no friendly suggestion. It was no underground attempt at getting the little one and Camelot out of his hair. It was an order. The men (the brutes who weren't quite as delicate) would stay behind to listen to this business of Micah's and Bryce's, while the girls and the smaller child would be exiled to upstairs. Sighing, I gave Caleb an encouraging smile and for his sake, and my own emotionally and physically drained selfish self, didn't fight him on that. Camelot's glare darkened however and she seemed prepared to start arguing.

Eyes. How is it that we know when others are being watched as well as we ourselves know when eyes are boring into us? I felt the strange pull of energy and found Micah and Bryce watching her intently, Micah looking no more than bemused and I found solace that's all she was to Bryce. His light eyes glittered with something more, something like lust, as he seemed to be continuously giving her a once over and hungrily hanging on every word she said. The green monster reared its ugly self. Envious I watched him watch her, wondering how the hell did she do that when so very few girls ever captured his attention- I had no feelings for Bryce. It was no more than girl on girl rivalry.

It wasn't just me playing the mature one for once when I snapped, "Camelot," and gave her a sharp look, communicating that she better not start arguing with Jack. For some reason on those occasions she actually listened to me, and with her sniffling cold she didn't seem to have the energy she usually had to ignore me and with a last severe look to our leader followed behind, waving cheerfully to the others.

I was selfish. I was jealous. Lately it had been that if I found no pleasure in defying Jack as he discriminated against us she would take up the part. Out of habit I almost let her, but now I knew not how badly he would react. Now I just wanted to pull her away from Bryce's lingering eye, more out of jealousy than any concern for her welfare when I knew how he treated women. Anyway, I was tired of listening to the same old arguments.

"I'll race ya," I addressed Caleb to keep him from listening anymore to us and his green eyes sparkled and before I said another word he took off up the wooden stairs. It left me alone to fall into step beside Camelot. I wanted this jealousy of mine to evaporate, and with a deep breath settled the monster to the back of my heart.

As quietly as I could I whispered, "So what's going on between you'se and Race? Jist gotta woin ya if ya still wanna keep it secret from da musketeers Mush saw dat whole hand on hand thing."

"Wad Mush saw and wants to believe is his business," she said stiffly.

"Yeah but…" I protested, unsure what I was arguing about. She tensed and coldly looked at me, eyes flashing.

"But nothing. Now aren't ya racin dat kid? He's been at da top, ya know." By her tone it was the end of the discussion and I quickened up the steps, her running past me pounding on the stairs a little harder than needed. So what was eating her?

"Ya didn't run when I did. You let me win," Caleb greeted me at the top of the steps and I struggled for a smile, fought for an excuse.

"Nah. My foot got caught, dat still counts as you'se winning."

"Ain't dat me cheating?" he asked warily. We could learn a lot about morals from a kid under ten.

"Nope. It was her fault, not yers. Da usual," Snipeshooter piped up cheerfully and I shot that kid a look that should have him scampering for Jack to tattle on me. He only grinned cheekily back. So much for the runts being my allies. A flock of them had gathered around Caleb, like animals inspecting the outsider, sizing him up either to join their pack or for food.

"Oh. Okay." He beamed up at me, ecstatic he was clever enough to win that race and pull some of the newsies into the dark lair that was Caleb. Give him a few more years and he'd be rivaling Jack for charisma, looks, and leadership- it still astounded me how he could be in a room for no more than thirty seconds and already could gain a following. While I, his surrogate sister, seemed to repel any who came within thirty feet of me.

"Cammie?" the youngest of the lot, no more than seven, inquired and she gave him a tired but encouraging smile as he nervously squirmed. Caleb looked up at her with interest, in his eyes a newcomer, in his eyes a foreigner- he was used to seeing me in men's clothing, but he wasn't used to seeing any other females in a rough and tumble lifestyle, he wasn't used to seeing other girl's period. "Do ya know weah Jack put our marbles?"

"Underneath Crutchy's bunk," she confided confidently and they exchanged a gleeful look at this sacred information. They made no move though and I struggled to keep from laughing at the absurdity. Jack had taken them away this morning after he'd slipped on a few, and telling them where the marbles were had made us their accomplices in their daring mission, and yet they still were here feigning innocence, forgetting we were on their side and Jack would be more angry with us then them if he found the marbles out and about.

"Aren't ya gonna go get dem?" I asked, keeping the laughter from my voice and they traded worried looks before the youngest (whose name I still did not know) piped up again.

"We wouldn't disobey Jack," he exclaimed indignantly and Camelot chuckled, pushing him gently towards the boy's bunkroom.

"We ain't gonna tell. Go get yer marbles," she instructed to their absolute joy.

"Watch out fer any Snitch's," I snickered and they traded evil grins to my pun; he'd gotten his name for a reason, and I hadn't forgotten the night of the party and his descriptive words.

"Pecker, you'se and Snipeshooter create a distraction and we'll get dem marbles," Caleb took charge and Boots raised an eyebrow, his leadership challenged but he did not have the pompous attitude the older boys had yet, and allowed the stranger to issue his orders.

"By da pokah table," the eldest specified into Caleb's ear for him to dictate, and cheerfully my charge did so. I nodded my thanks to Boots who shrugged bashfully right before the littlest one pushed the door open and our schemes fell silent. When all the elder boys were grown and gone, I didn't have a doubt Boots would run successor to Jack.

"Cammie, ya okay?" he asked quietly and her surprise perforated any retort at his concern; none of us were used to the younger one's attentive of the trials and tribulations of the other's, nor should they be.

"I'm fine, jist tired," she assured him and he nodded, though unconvinced.

"Ya two coming in?"

"We might be in a bit latah," I replied for the both of us, knowing very well neither of us wanted the noise or the inquiries, and without a doubt the boys would be bothering us as much as they could, even if we made it clear we wanted the peace of our little room. Understanding, he nodded and with one last curious look closed the door gently behind him, barricading all the noise, the good and the bad, and the brightest light in the lodging house into those four walls. Sighing, I leaned against the opposite wall, relieved Caleb had gone off with the others.

"Long day," Camelot commented sketchily and I didn't open my eyes, letting her feel the threat instead of seeing it. It was a fair warning that she received by not pushing it further. It was no small talk; it was her revenge for being worried about her, for asking about Racetrack. It was her skillfully bringing up Eloise.

"I'm sorry, Liso…Lani," she apologized softly and my eyes sprung open as automatically I tensed predatorily, alert as a lioness hearing the stirring of grasses, the threat to her pack. My glare didn't have to penetrate her, she wore it on her sleeve that there was no slip of the tongue, the mistake was as purposeful as mistakes could be. She coolly regarded me, studying my every reaction, and I clutched for the emotionless masks that had gotten me through the years. I despised how every move I made seemed to lead to ten more questions and answers for her.

"You should be, Guinewhore," I spat, justified in giving her a name that meant nothing; one I head heard the Delancey's attacking her with a few days before. She was the one out of line when she had used my real name; in superficiality less offensive, but the story behind it making it all the more painful to hear. But sparkles of black and red veiled me from the rest of the world as my head slammed back into the wall so hard my teeth rattled. Senses numb, fingers touched my stinging cheek and eye, sure that something liquid was sloshing around in my head. Pulling my fingers away scarlet reminders shone brightly from a gushing nose.

I needed to find her remorseful at having struck me, struck me so fast I hadn't seen her and so abruptly I couldn't retaliate. She was alert before the opposing wall, breathing heavily, trembling hand raised. I was too shocked to fight back force on force, settling for mind games as I leered at her. "Truth den Cam? Ya can only be mad if its da truth."

This time I was prepared. I dodged her heavy blow, dancing around her, my fist shooting out and hooking her in the side. She stumbled and fell against the wall, wheezing as she succumbed to body shaking coughs. Remorse. Never. Not with my blood boiled and catching her off guard I shoved her back against the wall, glaring down.

Something like a tear sparkled in her eye. She trembled as it burned her pale skin, and another chased it down. I stepped back at her hyperventilating breath as she shuddered, leaned against the wall for support. It failed her. She slumped down against it, gasping to clear her throat, fighting the tears that kept coming. Helpless I watched her as in vain she struggled to keep going strong. Before she broke into exhausted crystalline tears.

I wanted to pick up my feet and run from the scene for her sake and for my own, but my feet wouldn't even move, wouldn't even bend to soothe her as she choked on her own tears. I could only helplessly watch like the ground beneath was opening up to swallow me whole as the fragile image of Camelot dissolved when she finally broke down, a lapse in her strength.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," I apologized, hoping it'd help when nothing else could, feeling the blow it always was when Spot called me one, feeling the blow I had dealt.

"It's…not..." she gasped, looking up at me with pleading eyes to turn away but I couldn't. It was like watching an accident, so grotesque but you're just so entranced with it. An icy blue colored her face and I winced, helplessly watching her labored breathing. She'd faint soon enough if she couldn't get air she needed and desperately I looked about me for some instruction of what to do. "I'm…fine."

"I'se getting Jack," I announced, not really wanting to leave her alone long enough to thunder down the stairs. So my holler for him prepared itself and her leg shot out desperately, kicking me in the shin. She fought for the breath she needed, containing the tears, inhaling deeply so her clogged lungs would clear a little.

"I'm fine," she repeated, sounding slightly surer of herself and I hesitated listening to her, but the color was coming back into her face. She refused to look at me and watched a tiny bug follow the tracks of the knotholes in the wooden floor, but she didn't really see it. She was lost to this world. I wanted to reach down and out to her but couldn't deform our own guards for that would mean we were closer than either wanted to admit, and for her pride I only stood and watched. I hated myself for it. "I am one, ya know."

"One of wad?" I inquired curiously.

"A whore," she said simply, the mild taste of bitterness beneath her serene voice. Her look silenced me when I opened my mouth to protest. "You'se think da bruddahs are smart enough ta come up wid Guinewhore on dere own? Dey needed a little help."

"You're not a whore," I protested adamantly and she shook her head with a sad little smile. This perception she had of her self was so off-balance I wanted to strangle her for it, and I was growing fed up with that sad little smile. The one they all gave me like I was some naïve little kid, believing everything was good and fine. They knew I did not, they should know I knew just as much as they did.

A single tear rolled down her cheek this time as she looked up at me, her eyes pleading for an understanding. She looked like the little girl she once upon a time was, the part of her she had abandoned but had never really left her. I was taken back to the night of the party again, when I had seen her without her guard, her sad eyes, and the ghosts that hadn't gone back to their graves yet. "You don't know what I am, not really. Venice?"

"Yeah," I responded weakly.

"Do ya think I'se damaged goods?"

"Wad?" I demanded incredulously, unsure if I heard her right. She stared at me emotionlessly for an answer I couldn't give when I did not know what she wanted to hear, what she expected to hear. "In some way we're all damaged."

"Dere's something in me dat makes good people do bad things," she said so softly I could hardly hear her and something cold crawled down my spine, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. She was at the edge of a cliff and with one more word…

"Camelot? Venice?" Jack's worried voice brought her back to the safety of the cliff and silently I cursed him; he had broken a moment when more than I wanted to hear could've been said. She looked down with shame, rubbing the tears from her reddened eyes and hauled herself to her feet. I wiped the blood from my nose, cringing as I realized I'd let it flow free onto my shirt. The sting to my cheek was returning and I could feel the brand of her hand as well as I'm sure it showed and there'd be no hiding it. His feet hurried up the stairs and his face appeared in the dimly lit hall. Relief eased him before his face tightened in concern when he saw Camelot's tear streaked face and my bloody one.

"Wad in da hell?" he hissed through clenched teeth, coloring in rage as he tried to find an answer out of nothing. I expected some retort on my part and when none came I looked to Camelot, but she was silent, staring ashamed at the ground like she wanted it to swallow her whole. "I hoid noises from downstairs, thought someone had broken in…ya two been goin at it?"

Heatedly I denied it, exclaimed my rage that he'd think such a thing, and with every word his disbelief was changing to anger with every lie I told. He had heard the bang on the wall, the sobbing, and the gasping. Camelot's quiet, heartbroken voice finally silenced my own. "Yes."

"Yes…" he prompted impatiently, sure that whatever excuses we gave would be inadequate and no matter what he'd find himself furious. So why was he even giving us the chance to speak?

"It was my fault, Jack," she claimed and I looked at her sharply in surprise but she seemed to have complete control. He seemed about ready to tell her off for taking the blame but she protested, "Ya know I was in a bad mood, add me tempah and ya got disaster. Ven just asked da why's and I went off on her."

He looked at me for confirmation and silently she communicated that I'd better agree, and unwillingly I nodded my head. "Camelot, I'm telling ya I ain't havin it no more…"

"Everybody's fighting, Jack, don't just yell at her. We're cold, hungry, tired, and scared. And she's sick," I pointed out before he could scold her further.

"I know," Jack said ferociously, and with Camelot so near to breaking point already she looked like she was about to cry again. "Dats why I don't want all dis fighting right now. We gotta stick together or we're nothing. We need each oddah right now more den evah, and if I catch one more of ya fighting it's no mercy."

I was genuinely sorry for him, worried about him, yet we were doing nothing to help him out a little. He looked tenser, darker, and with more burdens on his shoulders than when we had waltzed into the lodging house at sundown; whatever was going on downstairs was worse than I had thought it. I wanted more than ever to know what that was.

"Now don't ya two even think it," he growled and we traded a surprised look, glad we weren't the only guilty of wishing to eavesdrop. "Ya both aren't gonna creep onto da stairs as soon as we go back down. I want ya both in da bunkroom right now. Wait, weahs dat shrimp?

"He has a name," I mumbled. "_Caleb _is in da bunkroom playin wid da younger ones."

"Fine," Jack grumbled and I turned to the bunkroom just like he was telling me to but he grabbed the back of my shirt to keep me from going anywhere. "Take a piece of cloth and lean yer head back so da blood will stop."

"It already did," I replied, touching my sticky nose.

"I wanna be sure of it. And change ya shoit, I'se sure one of da boys has an old one," Jack ordered and sighing I obeyed without protest, Camelot quietly following behind. I wanted to ask her the source of her tears, but it was too late now as we went into the bunkroom with heads low, hardly acknowledging the others.

They showered us with curious looks but dared not approach us, too overwhelmed with their own selves, too aware of our disagreeable moods. The floorboards rose over the noise and before we could get into our bunkroom we traded a look of regret, awaiting the newsie that had been silently elected to approach us. I demanded, "Can I help you?"

"Wad happened to you two," he growled harshly and Camelot ignored him, wandering into our room. He warned, "Camelot…"

"Do you have an old shoit?" I sighed and leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms while he studied the fresh blood on my shirt with concern, nodding reluctantly.

"I ain't givin it to ya unless ya tell me who did dat to ya. I'll soak em."

"Ey Camelot," I called and her tired head appeared in the doorway. "Specs wants ta soak ya."

"I can take him," she shrugged, sizing him up, keeping the smile at bay as he fought to hide his surprise, his confusion. He looked in between the two of us dumbfounded, and I pitied him when he knew not how to react.

"I thought ya two got along now."

"We do," I answered, yawning for affect, but I had only deepened his confusion. "Now how bout dat shirt."

"Yeah I'll get it. Remind me nevah ta ask da two of ya anything again," he grumbled as he shuffled off.

"Halleluiah," she rejoiced, disappearing into our little room and this time I followed her, shutting the door behind me; a test to see if Specs would knock. Words that needed to be said never could be. She slumped onto her bed and snatched up the book that she had been stumbling through just as I got up the courage to speak to her, just as Specs returned with the shirt, just as we properly threatened him to knock the next time, just as I lay on my own bed, and just as an uneasy sleep took me at unawares.

The soft lilt of voices ringing from a far away land in a far away world jolted me from this fitful sleep. It cracked my eyes open enough so they wouldn't close with the same dramatic end, wide-awake and the deepest blackest moonless night enclosed about me. That fear of the dark had the candle propped up on the little nightstand, but it was burning low, the wax dripping from it like torrents of rain. It shed enough pale golden light for me to roll over and find Camelot's mattress devoid of Camelot. No alarm. That was usual these days when restless nights overcame her willpower and her respectful fear of Jack finding her gone. I never knew where she went once she left the lodging house but these past few days the door had been locked, the windows shut tight, and when I'd risked waking the boys up and had scoured the lodging house for her I only once found her. Surprise of surprises Racetrack was there too, in one of the spare rooms. There they were, huddled close to each other talking of anything and everything with soft voices.

So there was no crawl of fear or alarm at finding her gone. Sighing, knowing I'd never be able to fall back into a peaceful sleep, I rolled up and out of bed, shivering in the frigid night air. Specs' shirt offered more comfort than my own had but it was hardly any protection against the air that was determined at getting to my skin. Crossing my arms for warmth I looked around the room, listening and waiting, expecting the soft lilt of voices to be Camelot and Racetrack somewhere around here. No such luck. No such fun in scaring them when I'd sneak up. Nobody was here, nobody was there, nobody was anywhere. The night was empty, cold, only the soft breaths and groans of the mattress springs from the other room perforated this lonely silence.

As quietly as I could I slipped into my boots for the comfort they offered my freezing feet, stretching, wondering if there was anywhere I could go that could still my quick thoughts. A quiet murmur paused my mind. A quiet murmur comforted me. The voice was back and I searched the room again for any misplaced newsies, any cold-blooded killer that was paying me a nighttime visit. Nobody. I could feel the welcomed heat of frustration flushing my face.

"Come out come out wherever you are," I sang softly, more for my own comfort than I actually expected whatever it was to appear at my bidding. Some light shone out of the corner of my eye. Sharply I turned, finding nothing but the candle and the dusty window where only darkness lay beyond. Tricks of the eye. I almost turned away when the tiny flash blared once again.

"So it's something…shiny," I estimated, curiosity numbing any fear of the unknown. Grumbling about the weather I dragged my feet to the window, yawning as I peered outside. Nothing was visible but the fire escape. It was probably Jack and his little minions discussing the dangers of the streets, the happenings of this gang, or it was Racetrack and Camelot. Either way they'd be furious at finding me out there. Even more reason for me to go look. I paused for one second, wondering if their anger was really worth it.

Definitely. For the looks on their faces, for my curiosity to dim, and for something to occupy my restless mind.

The window pane was colder than the room and a shiver was sent up and through my body from my fingertips as I searched for the latch. Opening it, the window still wouldn't pull open and I traced the cracks for what I knew lay in their depths. A tiny twig, no bigger than my pinky, but kept the window from opening. Forcing it out the window slid silently open with ease and a harsh gust of cold air slapped me in the face. I should've been thankful it was warmer inside. Too late now I took a moment to get adjusted, to feel my nose freeze and twitch, before I boosted myself up and out the only window to the room and onto the fire escape.

I landed with more noise than I appreciated as the metal clanged beneath me. I waited for any light to shine, for any footsteps to be heard before closing the window and slowly began to climb the fire escape to the top. Whatever I had seen had reflected somewhere else, creating the illusion of that something shiny right outside my window. As my cold hands climbed the colder fire escape to the roof, the voice grew louder, but not loud enough to be anything more than a dull lullaby in the closest part of my ear. How in the World or the Journal had I heard it from deep inside my own room?

I paused on the last step (or the first, it depended which way you came) and listened intently. I couldn't decipher the voice, but I only heard one. Some lonely newsie had found his way up here in the dead of night, to sing softly to himself. I couldn't understand the tongue, but it wasn't English. I almost felt bad for interrupting alone time with himself. But not bad enough to turn back around.

I hoisted myself atop the roof, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. There was nothing to shed light or warmth tonight. In crisis however, the body, the eyes, can mutate and dimly I could make nearly everything out, could see the outline of the musical newsie sitting with his legs carelessly draped over the edge. Oh how smart, if he moved one little inch he could go plummeting to the ground. Which took away all the joy in scaring him. I moved back from the edge a little, waiting for the opportune moment, hoping it would someday come.

The voice was no abnormal beauty worthy of the stage, but it was pretty. Pretty if that could be a word for a male's. The delicacy had me acutely aware of how exhausted I was, had pulled me under, but the strength, the strength in that delicacy, kept me hopeful, yearning for more. It was a spell. A sad spell that captivated me, kept me listening till it fell lower than its low, till I could only hear the breath, the memory, of the notes sung.

Hoping I wouldn't scare him off the ledge I crept silently closer, aware he was too deep in thought and song to hear me. I crawled like a beast until I was just feet from him, until the deep contrast of the darkness of night and the lightness of his skin gave him his own illumination.

My breath was gone. Stolen. Worse than being socked in the stomach, worse than that first breath of cold water. Ice solidified in my lungs and I stared at the gold that shone brighter than he did, the fine blonde of his hair. A shiver turned into a tremble and I closed my eyes for the mistake I had made, every instinct, every fiber within me screaming to retreat. More silent than I had come. Or to run and lock the window. Every memory of him, every emotional wound that had been created or reopened pulled my hair for me to turn back around and avoid this confrontation- to run when that was all I ever did. I did not know why I didn't lift my hand up, and I never will, except for his voice. His rich melancholy voice stilled me, captivated me. Some voice within me sang with his, had me remember the image of myself I had seen in him, the sensation I courted and despised with his touch, the human side of him I had seen. Some voice within me left me there when two steps could cross the distance between us.

I was lightheaded and I did not want to faint. I thought he had left for tonight. Slowly I let out the deep breath I had been holding, it shaking, gusting, and alerting. I knew he'd hear it before I let it go.

I was wrong. His brilliant blue eyes shone brighter than his hair ever could. They made me want to scream, to cry, to reach out to him, as his head swiveled sharply and those eyes that I had once thought were so like a serial killer's found mine. His furious eyes found my terrified ones.

"How long have ya been dere?" he demanded in a tone I could not argue with. Now, how I saw him here, was how he had newsboys cower at his very name.

"Not long Spot," I assured him heatedly, finding my voice stronger than I felt. His eyes flashed, disbelief controlling his features, but now was not the time to wonder at the Conlon's and their issues at being caught with their guard down. Now was not the time to wonder at my own issue with it. "I jist got up heah."

"Jist got up heah my ass," he snapped ferociously and his guarded and vicious face had me forget my compassion, how well I knew what he was feeling, had me forget everything but my passion to defy, to anger him.

"Yer ass came wid ya I'm pretty sure," I growled sardonically.

"Yeah? So why don't ya get yer ass outtah heah. Nobody's wants ya round anyway."

"Dats something you'se don't get to decide, Conlon," I muttered, unwilling to yield or to reveal how true his words could be, and how much they hurt. He was only responding so harshly to my presence because I had caught him without his masks, without his security. That was my only comfort.

"Why? I'se speaking fer dem. Da only reason dey want a little hussy like you'se round is cause dey think you'll get in bed wid dem. If ya don't, and dey finally get dat, wad good is you? Ya take up too much room and make too much noise."

"I'se pretty sure dey would've made dat clear if dat's all I was good for. I've been getting told off fer letting da likes of you treat me like those oddah goils. I don't think dey'd say dat if dey actually thought I was one."

"Maybe they're trying ta get you'se ta trust dem foist." Did he ever know how stupid he sounds? He seemed to finally realize it this time and quickly recovered, "Dey shouldn't be givin you dat honor. I like me goils congenial and pretty."

I thanked the sun it was dark tonight, so he could not see the blush that was creeping up my cheeks, burning me with embarrassed anger. The insult didn't hurt nearly as badly as not knowing why I cared; I shouldn't care what that little egotist with his cane up his butt thought of me. And I did not know why tomorrow as I will glance in the mirror, or the glass window of a store, I'll only see myself as ugly. Will continuously wonder if any boy would ever see me as congenial and pretty.

He smiled triumphantly but just as quickly as I had fallen apart I picked myself up back again. "Oh Spot, I'm sorry I'm not worthy of being your slut, of getting one of yer diseases, of being treated like trash. Please, please make me an unmarriageable slut!"

His smile fell as quick as lightning, bringing with it a fire of illusions. He frowned deeply down at me, his eyebrows creased in thought, and like the ninny I was I hung off his very word and thought, expecting the next attack, waiting for the moral slaughter. His eyes began to flash, remembering where we were, who we were. So he had a conscious after all. "No, yer definitely worthy of dat."

All I could remember was how he had treated me in these days, all I could know now was I had caught him in a moment where he didn't have the security he thrived on, that I had stolen the upper-hand from him and I wasn't eager to give it back. He was fighting for it, and the more vulnerable he felt the harder, the harsher, he fought. Fire on fire.

"Wads wrong Spotty? Missing yer mommy? Feeling like a monster fer wad you've done ta innocent goils, ta boys who've looked up to ya? Scared? Lonely?" I provoked and he instantaneously stilled, forgot breathing, forgot everything but how much he hated me in this moment.

"I've always wanted to knock ya senseless. Ya think its wise ta be pushing me buttons up heah when ya little minions aren't heah ta protect ya?" he said quietly, dangerously, more livid than I had ever seen him. His hand was in the air, poised, ready.

"So ya have a heart. Am I getting warmer?" I hissed, rising as he did and we faced each other offensively. Venomously I spat out, "Ya evah killed someone? Evah raped someone? Thinking bout how many of yer boys and yer friends are gonna die if dese street problems keep goin on? Wondering how many guys see yer sistah like ya see me?"

The breath was stolen from me, my insides jolting up like I could throw them all up, as my back collided with the ground below. My head followed, banging against the roof, and my vision swam. Gasping for air I forced myself in a sitting position, trembling, as I looked up at him illuminated by darkness. I tried not to let my shock show, that his disgust, his detest of me went so far as to forget honor. To shove me to the ground with a raised hand. And I tried to tell myself it didn't sting so bad- my head, my back, my heart. His furious gaze lingered on me, reading into my face and he didn't have to try hard when my masks had been knocked down earlier by him and I hadn't been able to pull them up again. Vulnerably I stared back into eyes that burned more than hate's fire's, my own watery one's opposing them. Blinking in surprise he searched me deeply, all seriousness, and slowly the fire was doused by a tear unbidden by me, one that I fought so hard to keep in my eye. Slowly his eyes softened before he turned from me suddenly and stared out into the oblivion, seeing what I didn't. I wasn't finished and as he turned away he gave me spiteful words, able to throw them at him now that I couldn't see those eyes.

"I got ya," I whispered hoarsely, knowing how far I had pushed him. My voice rose, choked by tears. "Ya don't think that everyone else, that I'm, feeling the same thing! We're cold, we're starving and sick, we're scared fer our lives and da lives of our family. We'se got pasts dat keep showing up everywhere we look. We're more confused den even we want to admit. And we can't let anybody know da way we're feeling."

"Don't," he shouted, whirling on me. "Evah compare yerself ta me. Ya don't know wad I'm feeling, ya don't know wad I'se thinking."

"We've all been through hell. Some of us are still dere," I argued, pulling myself to my feet. I crossed the distance between us with the bat of an eye and leaned up close to him. He turned away in disgust and I grabbed his arm, an unwanted tear spilling from my eye. "Don't turn away from me. We're trying ta survive three lives, our lives, our lives in da past, and da lives of our family. And we're trying ta be happy doing it. It's hard on all of us. Every time ya call me a slut, do ya know how much dat hoits? I hoit ya right den cause you'se been hoiting me since day one."

"Ya pushed me," he argued.

"No, I didn't. Ya just don't like being challenged and dats wad I did. Yer scared of me as much as I'se scared of you."

"Yer scared of me?" he asked incredulously and I blinked back at him just as surprised. He was the neighborhood bully who couldn't understand why everybody took a different road home. He was an enigma, whose eyes betrayed him, and now showed remorse. Yes I was scared of him. Scared of who he was and his reputation. But even more I was scared of the way he made me feel. Of what he could do to me with one look, one touch, one word.

"Everybody is," I replied quietly and he shrugged. "Why shouldn't I be?

"I know, its how I get da powah ta change things," he admitted and I blinked again in surprise at this confession, at his admittance to using fear as a weapon. "But I didn't think you'd ever be scared of me. You don't act like it."

"Do you think I like being scared of you?" I grumbled, kicking at the ground, the pain from my head ebbing away.

He said slowly, "No. Do you think I like you being scared of me?"

"Yes," I admitted honestly and he shook his head with a sad little smile that nearly broke my heart and I felt criminal, like I was harming an innocent puppy. I tried to remind myself of all he had done, of what he had done that I did not know about, but all I could see was this remorseful, this lonely, boy before me. This boy who didn't want me to be scared of him. Who was rewriting all I thought about him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replied shortly.

"Da truth hoits," I offered.

"No. It hoits like hell."

I tired to take a breath, tried to ignore the rapid beating of my heart, the surge of my adrenaline, the nausea in my stomach. That twinge in my stomach brought me towards every feeling I wanted to avoid, every emotion that I didn't know. It brought me back to what I had felt upon first seeing him, upon that night of Medda's bash, his honesty made it only that more acute. I wanted him. I couldn't deny it any longer. I wanted those strong arms to hold me, I wanted him to protect me just as fiercely as he protected his sister, I wanted to trust him and whisper every racing thought, every soaring feeling I had to him. I wanted to sleep with him without having sex. I wanted those sweet (though rare) smiles to be mine. I wanted the flashing stares, the stolen glances, even the glares to be meant for me, for him to think of me before he fell asleep. And I wanted to be the same for him. It was enough to nearly make my head explode, this resolution, this understanding that this was deeper than an infatuation. That I wanted the one guy I could never have, the one guy who was the last boy I'd ever want to be with.

A/N- so there it was, finally finished. sorry it took me forever (or a month) to write, it took me only this weekend to write but I couldn't think of anything before. Anyway, hope you all liked it okay. please review, tell me what you liked and didn't like, if i was keeping them in character, etc. i'm trying my hardest...sorta

RaincoatSammy- sorry it took me a while to get back to this story, but i hope it was worth the wait. or at least you like it. thank you for keeping up with this story and reviewing.

Emba- i don't think it'll take me as long to get the next chapter up, so thanks for sticking with this. hope that chapter answered your questions and gave you new ones. :) thank you so much for taking the time to review, its really appreciated

Reffy- . i'm glad the run ins are entertaining, i'm hoping you'll find this one interesting.stay tuned for: what will happen with Spot and Venice, what's going on with Camelot, and more fun time with Jack Kelly and the murderous streets of new york. haha. i hope my update made you happy and you keep liking this one. thanks for reviewing and i hope you liked this chapter.


	17. Chapter 17: Blind to Lisolette

Tonight the answers flared and the mockingbird sang as I caught the epidemic that's invaded the heart of every girl from New York to out west to overseas, for all the girl's that haven't been born yet and those who are already dead. Every look and every word he gave me I got sicker and sicker, and not with longing, not with awe, with a thousand stings and tumbling thoughts and sideways frowns, until I felt violently ill.

My stomach compressed dangerously and I turned away from Spot feeling the color drain from my skin as I discreetly held my stomach, trying to keep my innards where they belonged since I had nothing else to vomit. I inhaled the air slowly- the sky was darker here because of the pollution, and the musty air only made me want to stop breathing tonight.

"Venice," Spot said sharply, roughly grabbing my hand as it trembled. I refused to loose control this time with rapid shortness of breath and I held it in until it slowed, feeling the heat from his hand atop mine. Feeling the awkwardness and the over due blush.

His smirk was the thin line between right and wrong, love and hate and as he sensed my discomfort he squeezed my hand tighter and I fought the smile. Whether it was pride, defiance, or the thirst to aggravate me he never failed. As the pain in my chest became more of a gentle pulse of pins than a thrust of a thousand swords and my breathing slowed, his smile faded, his eyes darkened until he watched me closely. "Dat seems ta happen to you a lot."

"It's a talent," I retorted dryly as I pulled my hand reluctantly away, feeling the warmth where his hand used to lie.

"Ya should take it back. Ya ain't gonna make any money wid it," he said and I loathed the sound of my nervous laughter, we both knew it wasn't real. The awkwardness fell like an explosion as I avoided looking at him, feeling my foot inch towards the fire escape, towards the haven my room offered without Spot there. I knew I needed to get away especially after the realization I didn't want; I couldn't be trusted here, not now when he was acting so human while my grudge from moments before was slowly ebbing away.

We were at a stalemate when neither of us would ever apologize and we'd never move on. He was done with acknowledging he had the emotional capacity for hurt, for hurt at my fear. He'd fully digested what I had said to him and would never wear his heart on his sleeve but with the intensity he stared at me with I knew how deep I had touched him. A moment of silence felt like forever as I waited for him to end this and if he shouted for me to go back inside I promised myself I would listen this time. I'd go back in thinking of the insecurity he had induced with wondering how the others thought of me, I'd go back wondering why he'd been so depressed and defensive and so human, and so surprised I feared him.

"I don't apologize very often," he said slowly, quietly and I dared not to hope his fury was fading.

"So…" I pressed, waiting for what he had hinted at and what I could never decipher.

"So wad?" he rebutted and I could only marvel how he made me feel so inferior with two simple words.

"So apologize," I demanded.

"No," he said simply and made to turn away from me but I could still see him watching out of the corner of his eye, watching me for any reaction. He had one. I was dumbfounded. Satisfied he continued, "I just told ya I don't apologize very often."

"No, ya didn't jist say dat," I snapped. "Wid woids but dats not wad ya want me to believe! Ya actually said 'I don't apologize very often but I'se a jackass to you, and being extra stupid right now, so I'm sorry'."

"Well in dat case I accept yer apology," he said seriously and without thinking I punched him lightly on the arm. He stared at me in surprise, but it was nothing compared to my own. I had touched the Spot Conlon and hadn't been turned to stone. "Actually, Venice, dats just wad ya presumed and wad ya want to think. I made a statement dat I don't apologize very often. So if somebody asked me wad I wanted to eat I could just say I don't apologize very often. Don't mean I'se gonna apologize to da waiter. Dere's no need for it. Same thing."

"Yer absolutely out of yer mind," I wondered and he shrugged, still determined on harassing me. "Fine, ya made a statement, dats wad ya _said_, but dats not wad ya _meant_."

"How do ya know wad I meant. I'se Spot Conlon."

"And I'se me," I argued. "Apologize, damn you Conlon. You got me hopes up dat yer ego wasn't as big as I thought and if I have ta wait heah I'll night I'se getting an apology out of ya."

"Ya deserved anything I've evah said." He was playing me as the fool for his sadistic enjoyment, it was in the glitter of his eyes, the twitch of his full lips. He was torturing a cat with a string, pulling it away just as soon claws and teeth almost sunk in it.

"Bullshit. But I don't care bout den, I care bout now. Yer sorry, so say it."

"Wad am I apologizing for?" he asked obliviously.

"I don't know!" I cried, laughing as this realization finally caught up to me. He smiled, genuinely smiled for only me to see and I felt my heart race a little faster. "Say da woid and I'll leave ya alone."

"Wad if I don't want ya ta leave me alone?" he smirked and I wanted to smack that look off his face.

"Apologize," I stammered. I could not react to what he had said, it cut too close.

"Lani," he said seriously, and my eyes found his, sharing a moment where he'd probably just give a simple 'no' laugh, and turn away. "Words are nothing but words."

"Exactly," I grumbled, frustrated more than I've ever thought was manageable by humans. So furious, so dazzled, I couldn't think straight, was nearly shaking. "But its wad ya mean by dem which counts."

"Exactly," he repeated, his eyes sparkling with the upper-hand, with dangling every ounce of sanity I had left in front of me, with his secrets and with his seriousness. The mocking laughter had darkened, left him with nothing but entrancing me, making me trust him against my will. He could do anything with me that he pleased. Softly he said, "Woids can be a lie just as much as da truth, dey only mean as much as da person who's saying dem feels."

"I know dat," I said heatedly, about to go out of my mind, about to just run away from him. I didn't know what he was getting at, I knew exactly what he meant but I really didn't. He waited for me. "Words can be a lie to tell da truth. Ya say one thing, ya mean anuddah, but sometimes saying dat lie is da only way ta get to da truth."

"I know," he replied softly, sweetly, human. Shields down his face moved closer to mine until I could feel his breath, his sweet breath, on my cold face. I stilled, remembering the last time we had been this close on our own free will and not only his. I stared up at him and into eyes that could crush me with every look they gave, and at a mouth that could destroy me with every word it said. I gave him that power unwillingly, unknowingly- it had been his since the moment I met him. "My apology was an act. And have ya wondered if dats all dis is?"

"Wad is?" I demanded cautiously, on my guard. He could ruin me with the next word he spoke, our lips so close they almost touched.

"I don't know," he said slowly. Smiling. How could he smile now? "Everything."

I had no control over what happened next and quietly submitted to the kiss I knew was coming. He was tentative, probing to test just how willing I was, experiencing the inexperienced and softly, hesitantly, I returned it. Sweet and gentle it grew until the familiar explosion enveloped us as we fought to forget ourselves in each other, fought for understanding. For what nobody else knew that was communicated in a kiss. Softly he whispered against me, "I'm sorry."

I jerked in surprise, moving to back away so I could hear that replay but his arms had encircled my waist not letting me go. Smirking I whispered against him, "I'm not," and ran my hands through his hair, making sure it pulled when he tried to move away. He pulled me closer hungrily until nothing could separate us and we forgot who we were as white hot flames licked my heart and condemned me to him and tied him to me.

Pandora's Box flitted by and opened every emotion for me to live over but it did not beak me and chain me, the monster that fed off weakness did not enslave me like before. My head did not throb and I didn't loose complete control and as he sensed the desperation in me, slowing, softening, remembering the night of the party and the kiss that began it all something new bloomed that I didn't have to think about. I was becoming more than just alive, but awake, taking me away from the death of a breathing corpse. Not only from the kiss of a Prince Charming but day to day slowly I woke up and fell in more with the realness of emotion, with the abstract, and forgot to forget.

Grinning against him I kissed harder, flying to get against him, finally understanding that he was a savior that could be stolen from me once this kiss ended. One that I had to admire from afar, but he had awoken me from death and forever I would be grateful for it. It was a kiss nobody else would understand- not just the kiss that stopped time and took us to another world for we were right here feeling everything inside us and beneath our feet, but that was the beauty of it. We didn't need to be without the rest of the world to feel everything we had ever felt.

He understood and needed this just as bad as I did, no longer taking all the frustration and pain this world caused out on me. It was a kiss for each other, not for the world, for the secret we shared. We sunk to the hard roof, leaning back and he ran his hands along the curves of my hips, removing his lips and caressing my neck and a furious tear welled inside my throat. Desperately I wanted this but I lowered my head and brought his lips back to mine with a threat not to take this any further. In my heart I had promised myself to him with that last kiss, but my head screamed no, and I knew if the hands that ignited chill and gooseflesh, heat flashes and burns, ran further I wouldn't be able to stop them.

Pouting lips greeted me as he propped his arms up, leaning over my head and the darkness contrasted his bright eyes. He lowered those lips against my neck and things I didn't want to remember flashed against my helpless closed eyes. It was a defense mechanism making me remember Snitch, all the men that had leered and backed me into corners on the streets over the years, Spots taunts and endless lies. Furiously I moved my head so he ended up kissing the ground. He shot up, staring at me in shock, in slow bubbling anger. "What?" he snapped.

"No," I returned the snap aggressively and rolled out from underneath him. "Manners, Conlon, or yer nevah gonna get a goil ta fornicate wid ya."

"Ya know ya want to," he suggested pompously and I chose to ignore the laughter in his air that made this light and playful.

"No, I really don't," I returned coolly and he stared back emotionlessly-he'd taken the first step off the cliff and I'd left him there to fall, though I promised to hold my hand out. But I was too angry to feel sorry for him. No matter what I felt and what I thought there was only one thing he'd ever want. "Especially not on da roof when da boys, _Kloppman, Jack, yer sistah_ can walk in on us."

"Let dem think wad dey want," Spot shrugged, his hand resting against my waist and pulled me closer to him but I pushed against his chest.

"Wad are ya gonna say? Sorry, she fell down and my pants caught her?" I snorted and the smirk I loved to hate returned for the sequel.

"But widout da apology," he agreed, resting his forehead against mine and the urge to leave it there was too much to resist. "I don't have ta apologize fer der jealousy."

"I don't think dey'd be jealous. I'm an ugly, big-mouthed, hussy member?" I spat and his eyes darkened severely.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But I'm da only one who can call ya dat."

"Then I'm da only one who can call ya da biggest sex-crazed asshole from heah to Ireland."

"I have enough woman, thanks fer da offer though," he retorted and I sighed with frustration, moving away from him in disgust. He pulled me right back to him. Whispering in my ear, "I don't want ya to go."

"Not widout giving into yer charms, right?" I growled and a strand of his hair tickled my cheek.

"No," he said softly and I stiffened. But he did not say anything else and I settled comfortably against him, looking up into the sky that was starless before. Now the twinkle of stars perforated the darkness, looking down at the place we called home and the people we called family or strangers. How could the stars shine so bright when they saw all the chaos in our lives that passed as sane?

How much was real, that is the question. Was his head resting against mine as real as my heart crying out for him or was it just an illusion for what I thought I wanted? Was he as indifferent to me as I wanted to be to him, was what he said right then just another lie to ease me into his bed? It had worked on girls by the dozens before- now, I feared, it was working on me. I couldn't decipher what was real and what wasn't, just as I couldn't know who had murdered my sister and what Eloise had been sobbing about earlier.

"Tell me wad yer thinking," he commanded gently but it felt less like an order than a boy who didn't know how to ask. I was sure I had stiffened with the thought of my estranged sister and the mysteries she had brought with her. They should put a warning on her.

"Bout the stars."

"Yer lying."

"Yes," I affirmed. I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck. "Spot?" I took a chance. With him sitting so close I lost to blind faith. He was listening, he didn't say anything, but I could feel it. "Have you evah hoid of Lisolette?"

"Wads a Lisolette?" he asked absent mindedly and I didn't dare to hope. Not just yet. Why should he make the association? I wanted to tell him to forget about it but knew it would only rise suspicions now- I had to finish what I wanted to ask.

"A name," I said slowly, quietly. Behind me I felt his breath stop and he stiffened as if pulled by puppet strings.

"Wad about her?" he said harshly, listening intently and I stiffened as well wishing I hadn't said a word. I didn't know what made me do it, whether I was tired of lying to him and by giving a half-truth thought that would help, or if I just wanted to see if she was really hated as much as I thought she was. She was me.

"Wad about her?" I returned, acting suspicious and turning to look into his guarded eyes that were fierce as a predator, and the silence of fear crept into the security I had felt. He was waiting for an explanation, one that I had to give. Shrugging I said nonchalantly, "I hoid one of da boys mention her today. I just wanted to know who she was."

He saw past me, through me, into me, and beyond me. But he didn't see the Lisolette within me. He seemed to be ignoring my question and almost relieved I was about to give up on him but just as I was ready to turn away in a quiet voice he started. "Someone from da past. And da present. Maybe da future."

"One of yer many goils?" I teased, praying he didn't hear how restrained the laughter was.

"No," he said sharply and I stiffened, feeling the pulses of hatred he didn't know were directed towards me. He didn't know he was lying. Softer he replied, "No. She's anuddah street rat, but she ain't good enough to be a newsie. Pickpocket I guess."

He paused, and I wanted to say something but I feared saying anything at all. "Is she from some gang you don't like it?"

"Not quite. I think she feels she's too good fer any gang, cause she woiks alone."

"Woiks as in pick pocketing?" I surmised and he shook his head very slightly, waiting for the drama of my guesses. Trying to forget my connection with this I numbed myself, continuing, "Da liquor business? Territory? …Killings?"

"Yer getting warm," he nodded with a sad little smile and the attacks of panic returned, I could sense them coming with the pounding inside my chest, the nausea, the trembling, the throbbing of my head and my throat dried as I tried to control myself, hanging off his every word. I thanked the changes for the darkness so he couldn't clearly see my face. "Nobody really knows wad she does ta be honest wid ya. I'se been trying ta figure it out and been havin my birdies tail her, but we don't know wad she looks like. She's good, I'll give her dat, me spy's are da best and dey can hardly keep track of her."

My triumph at hearing him praise another, praise me, was short-lived. I was proud I was untraceable, but all the warnings I had given myself about Spot Conlon slowly flowed back in an unforgettable maze. I had been forgetting what really mattered lately, only thinking of all I felt and didn't feel for him and how easily he could break me. I had forgotten the one thing that really mattered- that he was Spot Conlon. The king of Brooklyn, of New York, and nothing went on around here he didn't know about.

His voice grew with strength and fury the longer he spoke. "I ain't only been trying to tail her, mind you. Nobody connected wid dat street rat just wants ta know wad she's been up to. We want her at our mercy. And I ain't sure we'd give it to her."

"Wad did she do dat was so terrible?" I inquired as doe-eyed as I could manage when bad blood was feeling too penetrated.

"Too much," he sighed. "She's like da Delancey's, an enemy of da newsies, harassing dem as much as she can widout dem knowing who she is. She's a goil, she plays mind games. It drives dem insane. She steals from us, and yer a newsie now, ya know how hard it is ta make a good day's earnings. She frames us wid da bulls."

"Wad did ya do ta her?" I tried to laugh, but the fake giggles fell short at his dark look.

"I don't fucking know wad she has against us. But I know wad we have against her. Never mind all dat. She soaked one of our newsies real bad."

"Is he okay?" He'd never know how much this answer would matter to me and my heart pounded with nervous anticipation, praying for him to be all right. For everything to be okay.

"He's fine." I let out the breath I had been holding. "He used to live in Manhattan but he lives in Harlem now. It was two years ago, his bruises have healed, his broken arm healed, but he hasn't. He's real paranoid now, more than before. He was always an angry and edgy guy. Dats why we called him Spook."

I didn't want to hear anymore but I couldn't turn away. I was mesmerized. I had known who he was, and I had heard him take slight after slight at me when he thought I wasn't right in the alley behind him, I had heard him brag about stealing from me, I had heard him boast about my family probably disowning me. I remember that day, when I had been fourteen and finally with boiled blood I had snapped. I still felt his face under my broken and bleeding fist as I pounded into him, sweat from the high sun pouring down my back, tears streaming down my face. I remembered looking down into his swollen eyes and spitting on him.

"He's alive," Spot reminded me, misunderstanding the tear in my eye for empathy. Not for regret, not for the fear of Spot (or any of them) ever knowing it was me, not for the indifference I still felt to Spook. My stupidity filled with me with bile and venom as it came rushing back at me. Spot had power. The power to search into whom I was, he had the connections and the spy's to recover information I buried and the wits and purpose to get me to spill some secret that could be fatal. 1+1 always 2 and Lisolette had been missing since I showed up here. I had been too entwined with loathing him and kissing him to remember.

"I know," I struggled to remain calm. To convince him I wasn't connected. "It's just strange knowing how much goes on ya nevah heah about. So do ya think dis broad is in wid dose givin da streets trouble now?"

"Nobody knows but guesses she has ta be."

"And wad do you think?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, his face twisted in thought. "I'se got dis feeling dat she ain't. Though nobody's heard head or tail of her for weeks."

"Maybe she's changing."

"Nobody ever changes," Spot said seriously. "Wads in dem always will be. They just get better at lying bout it."

"You don't really believe dat, do you?" I said indignantly and he raised an eyebrow. I didn't want to hear that, especially not from him. I felt my transformation and I hoped for his, but he had put an end to those hopes. "You can't. People can change."

"Maybe," he sighed and my stomach fluttered with another thought. I was having a conversation with Spot Conlon- not one where we ceaselessly traded insults, but an actual conversation of honesty. "But I've nevah seen one who did."

"Maybe it's just a misunderstanding," I suggested quietly, remembering. The swiftness when my family was torn apart could be traced back to a misunderstanding, most fights (unless between Spot and I) have been a simple misunderstanding. This wasn't though. I had meant what I did and did what I meant, yet now with an apology. Its strange how the most obscure of mistakes can come back to haunt you, and ruin the life you thought you started.

"Nevah expected you'se ta be da optimistic kind," he observed and I felt his smirk without looking at him. I didn't respond, feeling the weight of the mistake upon my shoulders, knowing one slip of the tongue could explode into secrets that should never be spoken of. Even if I had the courage to speak I didn't think physically I could- my throat was burning with salty acid tears that could never escape. It was exhausting knowing you wanted someone you could never have.

"It'll be dawn soon," Spot reminded me and I winced, despising leaving the comfort of his arms, knowing as soon as I did I'd probably never return to them. Tonight we'd been vulnerable and caught without our defenses- a mistake that wouldn't reoccur no matter how badly I wanted it to. "Jacky boy's been getting his butt outta bed before da light a day cause he thinks he's gonna catch one of you'se bums not in yer beds. Only a complete bonehead crosses wid Jack in da moinin."

"Den you'se should stay round one of dese mornings and give everyone a show," I retorted, deflecting the insult and it rebounded back to him.

"I would but dat means I'd have ta see yer mug. Unless dats wad I'd be wakin up too," he said suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

"You'd be so lucky," I snorted cockily, moving away from him to crawl to the edge of the roof. I felt his hands, so rough yet so soft, wrap around my waist, bringing back to him until I was pressed against his strong chest and staring up into bright eyes.

Seriously he said, "I will," defining the challenge I still was; the faster he ran the faster I would too.

Smiling softly into the boyish face of the boy I thought I despised I leaned up into his face for a farewell, inviting him to come closer. Grinning wolfishly he leaned down and just as our lips brushed I jerked out of his grasp, rolling away and left him there wanting more. Probably just to go back to Brooklyn and take a whore off the street.

"Venice, I don't like being played," he growled and I shrugged as I swung one leg down onto the fire escape until only my head remained to stare into his dumbfounded, irritated eyes.

"Jacky boys waiting," I called, disappearing. The cold of the fire escape was beginning to reach equilibrium with all that surrounded it; the metal slightly making me want to jump off the ledge from it frigidness but the air that surrounded me didn't bite as bad as it had done. In the dark sky the stars that had only shown themselves in the last quarter of an hour were fading, something more vivid, and something more whole taking their place. The first reminder that there was light was coming out of hiding.

Silently I pushed my window open and used the top to swing through, softly landing upon the wooden floorboards that whined with my spontaneous weight. Joining the creak with a slight sigh I turned and closed the window, hoping that Camelot was still out and about and as that thought crossed my tumultuous mind the doorknob turned. I froze, waiting, daring not to breathe, imagining Jack's irate form poking in.

She slipped in with the door cracked so slight I'd never fathom how she squeezed through. Pale and out of breath she shut the door quietly, leaned against it and let her head rest there as she fought for breath, allowing herself to breathe openly now that she was back in her own room.

"Late night?" I queried with a smirk and she started severely, jumping out of her skin and spassing like a dying animal. My hand slapped over my mouth to suppress the laughter before it emerged and she tossed her hair over her shoulder furiously, and gave me a stony stare. The glare she pierced me with was half-hearted though, her eyes struggling to remain expressionless, to douse the happy light.

Finally she strode over to her mattress and untied the sash she had put her hair up with, letting it cascade down nearly to her waist. "Jack almost caught us. We'se was sneaking back in heah and he just got out. We had ta hide in da broom closet dat don't even fit one person."

"I bet he liked dat," I informed smartly and she shot me a glare, picking up on my meaning. I tried to ignore the implications of such words, when the whole 'i'm a whore' ordeal had not reached any closure yet. I promised myself I'd put effort into understanding this. "Did he not know weah he was putting his hands?"

"Racetrack ain't like da oddah boys," she defended him stiffly and I rolled my eyes, the familiar 'he's different' ringing in my ears. Yeah, I thought so too of Spot. Yet I knew the truth was being told and not blindly- Racetrack was the gentleman of them, no matter how hard it was to imagine in the short ill-tempered Italian.

"He ain't like Spot," I muttered beneath my breath and though no sharp retort filled my ears I knew she had heard me from her expression of expressionless.

"So weah was you'se?" She already knew the answer.

"Having tea wid Pulitzer," I answered sweetly, plopping down on my mattress as she did hers.

"Was he wearing his new pink cardigan?" she returned and I didn't know whether to smile or gag at the thought, settling for both. She snorted, settling down as I did, hoping to get maybe half an hour's sleep before the day dawned and Jack threatened to pour the icy water on us. I opened my mouth but I didn't know what to say, snapping it shut again as Camelot stared questioningly at me. "We really just tawked."

I nodded, understanding what it was to feel a connection greater than yourself with somebody, anybody, where anything that crossed your mind was free game. Sighing, I rolled over to face the wall, to face the window and the fire escape that I knew led to Spot. My throat was burning again, this time the acid didn't stop there and leaked desperately from my eyes. Quietly I laid there, wondering how long this could go on before it no longer could. Three days I had to stay here according to my bet- I wanted to stay longer. I wanted to run. Stolen moments could be Spot and mine's- I was just his challenge. How much was real, how much did we feel? That kept my mind awake when my eye lids were too heavy to leave open any longer, knowing Camelot's soft breathing meant she had drifted into a few moments sleep. I lay there, silent tears trickling out. I wanted to leave, I wanted to stay. As today dawned everything would be forgotten and harsh words would probably be exchanged. Today I would have to face the mystery of Eloise, the harsh streets, the hard selling. But today was not now. And now I still felt Spot's lips on mine, still felt his smirks, still felt his words. Still knew he was mine.

A/N- shorter chapter but at least it took me only a week to update this time. Okay, I'm nervous about this chapter, I don't know how its going to go over. I'd really appreciate some reviews, I wanna know if I'm keeping Mr. Spot in character or not.

Shoutouts

Emba- ah yes, more of Camelot's new title will be revealed soon. I'm glad you liked the topsy-turvy chapter. I hope you still love Spot after this one, I'm not sure if I kept him in the essence of Spot. Anyway, thank you so, so much for keeping up with this story and reviewing. I really hope this chapter was satisfactory and you continue with reading and reviewing.


	18. Chapter 18: Dance with the devil

**Chapter Eighteen **

"Wads dis do?"

"Pull it."

"No, squeeze it."

"Pull it, he won't notice."

"Race ya bummah I'se right heah!"

"Pull it, you won't notice."

"Don't touch…" I yelped terrified to peer around the mountains of shelves and see what should've been put higher on the timbers and out of their reach. Determined I walked into their aisle and found secrecy did not look good on Kid Blink. "I sweah, if ya broke it…"

"Why do ya think we did?" Camelot piped up innocently and I scowled, feeling too much like Jack.

"Cause I can't see wad yer doing behind yer back," I grumbled, staring penetratingly at each of them in turn and Mush scrambled to put something back on the shelves.

"Exactly," she retorted and I rolled my eyes and stomped over to them.

"I told ya you should've squeezed it," Kid Blink piped up at exactly the wrong time while Mush guiltily held out the torn…chicken's head. The _fake_ stuffed scented chickens head whose scalp was now ripped open. I took a quick step back and Racetrack snorted.

"We making sacrifices heah?" I cried and Mush shushed me with a frantic wave of his hands and I tried to keep my voice low enough so we wouldn't attract any unwanted attention. Racetrack took the mutilated head and held it up to the light.

"I think I'se hoid bout dis. Yeah, it's supposed to take da place of da dead chicken for ague. Just ya don't get sick from wadevah da chicken had dats killed it," he explained, shuddering as he stared at it. "Me pop had ague once. Everybody told him holding a dead chicken against his bare feet would get him bettah."

"Mrs. Monett's coming," Camelot hissed and panicked we stared at each other like a rabbit facing down the long tube of a rifle. Hurriedly I grabbed the head from Racetrack and stashed it behind a teapot, moving the matching teacups around to obscure it and then whirling around with a pleasant welcoming expression as she swept into our aisle.

"Here it is, I knew I had it round here somewhere," she said in her soft wispy voice and thrust the bottle into Mush's (the most responsible looking) hands and they closed tight around the bottle. I wouldn't be able to hold it after seeing that chickens head, fake or not, even if it might be just a concoction of honey and spices. "Send dear Kloppman my regards, won't you?"

Racetrack opened his mouth to respond but before he could she continued right on. "Always such a dear fellow, pity that he has to take care of sick newsboys, I would almost give you the medicine for free."

"Will ya?" Mush asked hopefully as I fingered our meager coins in my pockets. Kloppman had given us the few spare cents he had but he was naïve to the cost Mrs. Monett charged, and any leftover money we had went into the pocket for this. This substance that probably wouldn't even help the sicker one's feel better.

"Oh, dear, you know I would but a gal's got to make a living," she laughed in that obnoxiously girly lilting way, a lilt that screamed of hypocrisy and superficiality. I wasn't too fond of her, nor her strange little apothecary. Mush's face fell and I had a feeling some of it was for show, yet this was one who wouldn't notice the emotions of another.

I gathered the coins in my pocket and sent her an inquiring glance and with a strong reply of "thirty- five" reluctantly dropped the change into her waiting palm. Her eyes lit up hungrily and I had a gnawing feeling we had just been gypped. Her long dark skirts swirled around her ankles as she turned to Camelot like a vulture and looked her up and down, taking in her thinner than usual frame, pale skin and watery eyes. "Ah, not feeling ship shape Camelot darling?"

"Jist a cold," she replied with a noncommittal shrug, shifting from foot to foot nervously under Mrs. Monett's unwavering gaze. Distastefully she added, "I don't need any of dat."

"Of course, of course. And yet," she trailed off suspiciously and smiled in a way she must've thought was maternal but only looked sadistic with a money hungry glint in her eye and her gap toothed smile. She moved behind Kid Blink and hesitantly he stepped aside with a desperate look as her hands searched blindly right around where the torn chicken's head lay hidden. Her face lit up as she pulled some bottle out, narrowly avoiding what we had broken. "For any woman. Offers health, fertility, and beauty to the taker."

"You saying she ain't beautiful or…fertile," Racetrack defended her before a light flush colored his cheeks and he turned deliberately away from every girl as Mush laughed beneath his breath and Camelot kicked at the dust on the floor embarrassedly.

"No, no, no, beauty is something she and her brother share. And fertility…well, I'm sure we shall find out in the near future," she laughed like she was in on a joke the rest of us did not get.

"Wad do ya mean by dat?" I demanded with my hands on my hips maternally and swept over to stand beside Camelot who had paled further than the god awful pale she was already. Embarrassed and confused into silence it was now my turn to get this bloodhound off our scent.

She laughed heartily and shook the bottle tauntingly before Camelot. "Oh, how old are you now dear, fifteen? I had a child at thirteen. Your time will come soon child, if your brother finds a way to get you off these foul streets."

"Spot don't want to get her off da streets fer dat, trust me," Kid Blink proclaimed and held Camelot by the arm firmly. I struggled not to stare too pointedly at Racetrack but they were taking care of that themselves, neither of them speaking and desperately trying to avoid the other's eyes but continuously finding the other. I nodded heartily and turned to Mush for support. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows creased; he was upset by every definition and I was too tired to try to understand why.

Mrs. Monett was laughing cheerfully as she placed the bottle back on the shelf. "It'll help with whatever you're under the weather with. Tell me, sore throat, runny nose, nausea, chills, fever?"

"All of dem," Racetrack announced and Camelot glowered at him, her blush fading for wrath.

"I'm fine," she argued stubbornly and he sighed, shaking his head and his hands retreated to his pockets. I could sense the full thrown fights coming and hurriedly thanked the woman, rushing the others out of the aisle, out of the store with Kid Blink's help.

"I would pay for that if I were you, Miss," a threatening voice cut us off before we could make it out the door. The disembodied voice caused me no trouble and no curiosity and I whirled on Camelot, who was standing there defensive and closed, trying to push past me and into the freedom of our open streets. I grabbed her tightly by the arm and pulled her back in- whatever she was up to I could not take it today. My conversation with Spot from the other night had me feeling more responsible and mature, especially when around his younger sister, and after another lecture about the dangers of the bulls from Jack I was not about to turn the other cheek to this.

I was not the only one who had taken Jack's speeches to heart. Kid Blink stormed past me and stood angrily before her, holding out an open hand and the flash of his one good eye was enough warning for her to defiantly reach where her button up was bulging at the bottom and toss the bulge into his waiting hand. All her weight was upon one foot and she put a hand on her other hip, cocking her head and staring like the epitome of defiance and hostility.

"Laudanum?" Racetrack laughed and the shadow of a smile swept her face before it fell again at Kid Blink's threatening look. "Couldn't have stolen anything more fun?"

"It helps me sleep," she argued with Blink as I tried to suppress my regret I had not let her get away with this- it would have been good for me too. Too bad it was nothing stronger, or more 'fun'…like whiskey. Or rum.

"The police help me stop little thieves," the disembodied voice returned and I stiffened, the slick crawl of dread encompassing me. Silently I prayed he would disappear if I didn't turn around.

"Please sir, you have your laudanum back, it won't happen again, I promise," Kid Blink pleaded and I heard him give the bottle back at the same time I heard him slyly edging towards the door. I followed his lead, taking Mush by the arm and nudging him ahead a little when he would not budge. "Right Cammie?"

"Right Cuddy?" Mush's sharp voice demanded and I froze at the suddenness.

"Mush," I hissed warningly; this was who was about to let us go free of charge, we could not let him mess this up for us all.

"Cuddy?" Kid Blink repeated in blatant surprise and I finally turned to see the boy-man in his middle twenties. Arms crossed and baby fine blonde hair falling into his eyes he was an intermediate between them. He was staring at Kid Blink hard before slowly recognition seeped into his pale, pale blue eyes.

"It's Blink!" His eager face dropped slightly as Cuddy did not move towards him in welcome. Like he was seeing ghosts from a past he had tried to forget his eyes swept over us all, lingering on our dirty faces. He drew back slightly like he feared we might hurt him and recoiled within himself, the recognition gone and replaced with something unreadable, something cold and hard.

"C'mon it's us, only a foot taller. Maybe a few inches in Race's and Camelot's case," Blink jibed and they allowed the slight, staring too intensely at this stranger (or maybe not), reading his soul and not liking what they found. A little desperately he added, "Don't ya remember Manhattan?"

"We are in Manhattan, I have no infliction that I would not remember it," he replied coldly and Mush and I traded an uneasy look. I didn't like where this was going and wanted to just shepherd the rest out of here and leave the past behind where it wanted to be forgotten.

"Newsies, damn it, Cuddy," Blink reminded him heatedly, comprehension draining from his eyes as he looked between him and the rest of us, begging us for any back up. It was not my place when these five years I had coexisted in a different world, and Mush seemed he had lost all ability to speak. Angrily Blink turned towards Camelot and Racetrack who were standing a little apart from us and wanted to stay that way, coldly meeting his eyes, and beneath their eyes laid the true distortion.

"Its Samson," he argued firmly and held his nose up to our filth.

"Cuddy," Blink growled.

"No. Samson. Cuddy died a long time ago."

"Wad are ya tawkin bout? Have ya lost yer mind?" Blink cried and the first shadow of a smile played over his lips. He shook his head and gave each of them a once over, a bittersweet memory. His eyes lingered questioningly on me. Slowly Blink explained, "Venice, da newbie."

"How do you do?" Cuddy, or Samson, offered this formality and bowed slightly, his well tailored suit sharply contrasting with my ill fitting dirty garments as I returned the bow. He chuckled at this. "Wearing the pants does not make you a man, miss. A curtsey would be better."

"I'd curtsey for Cuddy, but he ain't heah," I retorted stiffly. The formality was too much to ask for when he was doing this to my friends. I understood what he was doing perfectly, I was doing the same with my own, but that did not justify it when I at least acknowledged Eloise. I had a reason for leaving it behind me. He just wanted the image of a proper gentleman, the polite hypocrisy, and the turncoat was not getting away with it.

"I would not call the police if I was offered peace," he replied coldly and Camelot froze, paling further and gripped Racetrack's head instinctively. It closed over hers, holding her closer. We'd make a run for it if it came to that, but running from an old newsie who knew the turns and twists and tricks wouldn't be easy going, or emotionally indifferent. Running from a ghost never seems to work.

"Don't call dem, Cud…Samson, please," Blink pleaded, his warm eyes pleading but behind they were cold and severe at this betrayal. "Ya know how it is."

"That does not justify stealing. There is a line between right and wrong."

"It's a very fine line," Racetrack argued stoutly. "Dere's too much gray between."

"No. Stealing is wrong."

"So you're saying starving and dying is bettah?" Mush finally growled in a break of silence, exploding with pent in words.

"Yes," Samson answered coldly. Sadly.

"Remember who you're talking to, Cuddy," Blink said harshly. "It's us. You'd call da coppahs on da one's who showed ya dat hiding spot in Little Italy," he gestured wildly to Racetrack, "Or who ya saved from drowning at da docks," he pointed Camelot out.

"Yes," he repeated.

Trying to repair the damage I sarcastically curtseyed and his eyes fell mockingly upon me. "I am not calling the police because you did not curtsey; do not think yourself so important. I should've right from the start."

"It's us…" Mush said quietly. Desperately.

"Exactly. Things change, people, the city itself. Keep up with it or perish. I'm doing you a favor."

"You dirty bastard," Camelot hissed, taking a threatening step towards him. His eyes widened, though he did not seem surprised. "You filthy hypocrite. Hang image! Hang polite! It's all bullshit."

"The refuge would be better for you than the lodging house," he snapped and leaned his head out the door to holler for police that would be roaming this street. The breath leapt from me as a hard hand slammed into my back and I stumbled out the door behind Blink. I sunk to my knees but he pulled me back to my feet, pulling me into a run before I could get my balance. I heard heavy footsteps behind us, could hear the newsies cursing and panting as we sped down the street, shoving people out of the way, theirs shouts propelling our heavy feet. My feet were getting heavier as my stomach made it painfully acute how empty it was. No energy, no room for running and before we made it down the street I was begging for breath, my side twisting in painful knots.

"Let's split up, bettah dey don't catch us all," Blink panted and I winced; seeing me torn from them by cold invisible hands and locked somewhere colder.

"Da goils can't run," Racetrack protested and Blink scrutinized Camelot and me. Racetrack was supporting her, sweat and tears at the painful effort merging with dirt. I doubled over, trying to get the knot in my side to ease.

"You two and Mush, get in da doorway," Blink orchestrated and sternly found Mush's eyes, a silent command not meant for our ears passing between them. No doubt in my mind formulated at what that darkly significant look was about; he chose Mush for brawn, the most apt to fight if it came to that. And now it would be his duty to silence whoever was inside before they could shout at the intrusion.

"No," Camelot said, looking desperately at Racetrack who seemed just as powerless. If they were going down they wanted to go down together. And if they begged to be together too many suspicions would be roused. They were trapped. Before she could say another word Mush grabbed her and pushed me into the doorway, slipping in as we heard Racetrack and Blink flee at the sound of a high whistle.

He clapped an unnecessary hand over my mouth and pulled me so close I could hear his heart beat wildly and the warmth from his body charged with my own energy. Camelot had given into his hold less gracefully and still struggled instinctively in it for a freedom we had lost at our female birth. His foot was blocking the door from opening- the cold damp darkness was engulfing me until I wasn't sure if I'd rather stay in here than the refuge. The moldy musty smell was swelling my throat and with my free hand I searched the wall for a lamp but found only bare wood.

Hushing the both of us he removed his hands and crept to the door, pressing his ear to it and listening like the vibrations of the police were so different from all else. I sighed and slid against the wall, prepared to wait until the two other boys came back for us. Prepared to wait in this lonely dark.

"Thanks Mush," I whispered as a light flickered on, taking the time to marvel at how quickly and silently he had moved to the other side of the room.

"Wad?" he said annoyed from right beside me. I turned towards the dim light to find Camelot there, but heard her heart beat right beside me. Their shadows danced across the wall as they stepped out.

"It's polite to knock, you know," a bored voice drawled and we leapt to our feet simultaneously, thundering the floorboards as we landed. Mush's hand grabbed for the doorknob but he fell, crying out in pain as his knees scraped the ground. I looked wildly around to find something, someone, standing right in front of the door looking smug.

I held out my hand but he ignored the help and boosted himself up, the only thing hurt was his pride. Ignoring the figure looming behind us I scowled towards our host, his face cast in shadows from a top hat cocked on its side. The shadows did not absorb his figure though; it only seemed to accentuate it to its finest and the slick beast of impeding terror nested itself inside my gut. His pants did not quite reach his ankles, too tight and too small for a figure that shot straight up until six feet, a shirt too tight. Tight enough to display ripples of muscles and to burst the ones on his arms near breaking point. Why was there never a midget figure cast into shadows? Maybe we just did not see them.

"We'se hiding from da bulls, I'se guessing ya can understand dat," Mush reasoned and discreetly shielded us from view, leaning back until I was pressed firmly against the wall.

He ignored him, his gold eyes aflame in this gold light and the large orbs flickered towards Camelot. A slow, twisted smile crawled against the part of his face I could see- sadistic. My stomach turned. I wasn't sure if it was my heart pounding wildly or Camelot's and she was still sitting helplessly against the ground, never having gotten up, frozen in time. Meekly her legs were curled in to her as blankly she stared back at him, but the truth was always in her bright eyes brighter in the pale golden candlelight, and my stomach clenched. Fear; fear greater than what went bump in the night, the gooseflesh that rose, the prickling of hair, it was all arbitrary compared to a fear that stopped time, pushed your least threads of sanity, and pushed you so far you might never come back.

"Hello Esmeralda, I did not think I would have the pleasure of your acquaintance again," he greeted formally and I wanted to gag on the manner. It was Camelot still frozen that balled my fists. He grinned, not missing even this slight exchange. "Hello Mush. And who might this other lovely specimen of a creature be?"

There was something about the way he said _specimen_ that made my legs want to give out beneath me. Coldly Mush retorted, "Never you mind."

He chuckled, a cold, twisted little laugh before his eyes fell again on Camelot. "How are you doing, my pretty one?"

She didn't speak.

The little I saw of him hardened into a harsh, repulsive look that mirrored his soul. "Talk to me, don't dishonor me by keeping your silence. I know very well you can, that it's hard for you to keep your_ mouth shut_."

Her obedience threw me off balance; a fragile image was shattered and through that broken glass I looked up at her meek, pale face as quietly she replied, "I'm fine." Realizing what she had just done she recovered "I know it's hard for you to keep your pants on" but her voice hardly rose above a ghost's whisper.

Something cruel and ugly flickered across his face before it was gone, replaced with a charming smile. "Yes, I know you know that well."

Something like a whimper emitted from deep inside her and disgusted I looked into the mans eyes; his purpose was to hurt her. I stage whispered, "He's just sad he can't get any."

"No, I can get plenty. I can get anything," he said softly, meeting my eyes and there was a secretive laughter in there, a reason for Camelot to curl into a tighter ball. His footsteps, even the single one, thundered against the wood of the floor in a threat that had even me push hard against the wall. Mush started forward, fingering something in his pocket.

"I don't think so," the guard at the door growled and snatched the switchblade from Mush's hand before he had the time to react. Dumbfounded he stared at the guard, ready to fight for that knife but I grabbed his arm, looking between him and the blade. He caught my meaning and backed off; not the smartest to start a fight with someone who had just conveniently stolen your knife.

"You want me dead, Vincent, I'm well aware of that. You don't have to prove it to me or any of my men," he replied coldly and strutted towards us, his shrunken shirt moving with the pulse of his arms, giving us glimpses of tanned, toned flesh. Mush stiffened and took another step forward and I got my fist ready to fight the guard but this mysterious, cruel man held up his hand. "Let him alone, Rocker. Mush, I won't touch her, you have my word. Either of them."

I winced at being included in this little reunion but at least Mush slightly loosened up, giving me space to breathe, to think, though my mind was numb. I shook myself out of that state of mind, refusing to be caught in the details- I needed my senses, I needed to follow what was going on right now and not dwell on the past that I could only guess at. Mush quietly said, his voice threatening, "Your word's not good enough."

"Pity," he replied sardonically and reached within a yard of us. Camelot shrunk further into the wall but I reached down and pulled her forcefully up, refusing to let her stay in such a helpless position. If there was a fight she'd weaken us that way. He caught onto this but did not pay it any other mind than a knowing smirk. His full attention was on Camelot now, looking her up and down in a way that would make me shrink into the wall. Finally she just stood there, immobile, looking into the face of a monster.

He was dreadfully handsome, like a renewed portrait of some Roman hero- all tan skin and well chiseled features, a broad face with dark curly hair spilling out from under his hat, his eyes the gold of the sun. The affect he had on me was like any other handsome face, less of Spot, and more of Jack to an extreme. Plus the distorted soul.

"What do you want, Swig?" Mush hissed, his low voice quavering in fear of the answer.

"To see you again," he said seductively into Camelot's ear, voice as soft as a lullaby and as sweet as honey and she blinked back invisible tears. He traced a hand down her pale cheek and it wasn't until a shadow danced away did I see that the nail had left a faint red line.

"Leave her alone!" I shouted, shoving him in the chest and he grabbed my wrists and slammed me back into the wall hard enough to leave me there. He released me and stepped back and before Camelot like nothing had ever happened. I could hear the faint struggle between the guard and Mush behind me, but now it was not my primary concern when he was just holding him from attacking.

"Has your brother found you a suitable match?" he inquired sweetly, sounding too much like Mrs. Monett. Her silence, and her fists ready to defend me, provoked him into a hiss, "Answer me."

"No," she said with some of the strength, the fire, back as she looked up into his face with glittering eyes. "Not until your dead."

He laughed at this, loud enough for it to reverberate around the cold, damp room. His eyes gleamed with tears of mirth. "I see. Or is it because nobody will marry someone like you? Someone…unchaste."

She bit at her lip, but her eyes lowered and she did not fight it, accepted her fate, her defeat. Guinewhore echoed back to me in a stream of memory- was this nickname granted because of a man standing before me? She took a deep breath, saying, "No. It's because now they think I have no standards."

She screamed softly and fell into me. I stumbled for footing but as she toppled into my side I was flung with her to the floor, my stomach jolting into my throat with the fall, my elbow skinning and I was sure I felt blood trickle away and stain grounds that had surely seen plenty of it. I turned around to Camelot beside me, blood trickling from the side of her lip. I hadn't even seen him lift a hand to strike her. I doubt she had either.

"You gave your word," Mush shouted, outraged, irate, livid, every word into one glare that promised retribution he hoped Swig would not live through.

He hardly seemed bothered. "That was before the little brat decided to disrespect me. Of course, that's one of the things that attracted me to you in the first place, Esmeralda. That fiery spirit. Of course first comes who your brother is."

It was no time to ask questions, I could only roll over and help Camelot to her own two feet. There would be no punches thrown, no punishment for what he just did to her, except in deadly stares. I could do nothing after all, he would only overpower me.

"How is ole' Spotty?"

"Leave him alone," she growled protectively and that only brought a smile to his lips.

"Yes. You two are so very protective of each other. But do not worry your pretty little head, I'm not planning on harming him. That's not my duty."

"Wad do ya mean?" Camelot and I snapped simultaneously, hearing the threat. He raised an eyebrow at me and I hoped the darkness would hide my blush.

"I was not saying anything. There are always people after your brother, you know that, Camelot."

"Yeah, you being one of them," she growled and his hand twitched. She eyed it nervously.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," he hissed, taking another step towards her until he towered above with a breath between them. "I'm surprised I didn't break you. When I saw you here today, I thought for sure I had."

She didn't respond except with a slight shake of her head. The pain in her eyes drenched me wholly. Her voice came out a painful whisper. "Just let us go, Swig."

"You see, I can't very well do that."

"This isn't even your place!"

"It's a partner's of mine," he said nonchalantly.

The arch in my eyebrow distracted him. "You're house sitting?"

Slowly, cautiously, like he was choosing his words very carefully he replied, "You could say that."

"So why can't you let us go?" Mush demanded. "Racetrack and Blink are gonna be heah soon and…"

"I can't let you go because I have a message to deliver. I would not let you go if it was up to me, I don't want you to go blabbing to your precious brother that I'm in town as I know you're a fan of doing," he snapped at Camelot who remained as emotionless as she was able to.

I was all practicality. "Wads da message?"

With a convincing bored look he reached into his pocket and fished around in there while we eagerly awaited the note, whatever it might contain- it was our ticket out of here. The fact that there was a note for us at all wasn't nearly as threatening as it should be. Mumbling to himself he finally found it in his other pocket, pulling out a tiny piece of parchment folded neatly into tiny perfect squares.

Holding it high and tauntingly he sneered, "For Jack." He shoved it into Mush's pocket and winked at me, gesturing the guard to move aside. Smiling, he grabbed Camelot's arm and whispered sensually against her ear, "We will meet again. I promise you."

"Don't make promises dat I can break," she finally hissed, lips only a few insults away from kissing him and his face twitched in repulse or like he would like very much if she tripped and her lips fell against his. Grabbing her wrist, his lips made a slimy trail down her face, down her neck, lingering at the collar of her shirt as she closed her eyes and willed it all away.

He stumbled back, grabbing wildly for something to steady him for a humiliating fall. He caught himself with the agility of a cat and returned a glare with a face bright red, while Mush and I exchanged triumphant looks- I had not seen his fist shoot out the same time as me, and I was happy I hadn't. Two is always better than one.

Ordered to step aside, the guard was not there to barricade our sweet escape and like a hero after winning a battle in a dark cave Mush threw the door open and let the sunlight blare through the door. He stepped out of it with Camelot and I following him, closing the door with a finality that I hoped rang true. Silence awaited us as we saw Kid Blink and Racetrack's hats bobbing in the crowd, and we hopped down from the steps to stand at the side, to wait for their company.

"We had to have lost em, just gotta be careful. We went…" Kid Blink trailed off and eyed us all, face dropping in questions that had to be answered.

"Camelot?" Racetrack inquired with a voice drenched in worry. For the first time in the sun I looked to her. Blood was staining her face, her busted lip open and still bubbling blood. Her face was paler than normal, and she was swaying like she might blow over with the next gust of wind. But it was worse. The look in her eyes was heart wrenching. Their bright, hopeful, guarded coloring had bled into a dark stormy look, the fear there. Like she had been broken, abused all her life, haunted by it. She did not say a word, mouth dry with fear.

"We ran inta an ole'…" Mush trailed off, fighting for the words, knowing one wrong one could hurt her even further, or would still remain a mystery to the boys who were lucky enough to escape his foul breath. Sending me a sideways glance he took a deep breath and the first plunge, "We ran inta Swigs. He's house-sitting."

"Swigs!" Kid Blink roared, making to move into the house but Mush restrained him, shoving him gently but firmly backwards as the newsboy's ragged breathing slowed. I looked to Racetrack, but he did not say a word. His eyes had darkened into their harshest tint, his face had colored with the pale red of anger, but his lips were sealed. Camelot winced as he intensely stared at her, feeling the sparks radiating off him.

His eyes traced over her like looking for signs of mistreatment and finally narrowed on the drying blood, on the fresh that still covered the side of her lip. He took a step and their bodies were hardly a silent word away as he hesitantly traced a finger against the side of her face, afraid she would turn to ash if he touched too hard. She closed her eyes, not out of pain, but having him so close, so near, knowing her control was slipping dangerously to being gone entirely. I knew it well.

"He hit you," Racetrack growled, making it a question that did not need to be answered. She shrugged meekly.

"He didn't like wad I was saying very much," she said softly and he shook his head like he did not understand at all. Hell, if anyone could explain it to me I'd be happy. Now was not the time to intrude however, and I waited patiently on the sidelines for someone to remember I was there.

"He still in dere?" he demanded but it was rhetorical and he made to step around her but she grabbed onto his wrist. He paused mid-step, freezing up with her slight touch- not at all like Mush's forceful grab, with little strength in her hold but it was enough to bring him back.

"You know why we can't," she sighed and the glitter of promised retribution in their eyes hardened her own expression. "Listen to me, I told ya I didn't want any of you attacking and carrying on. I want to take care of this."

"And how ya gonna do dat," Race mocked and it did not take her long to flare up at him. "Waltz in and say 'oh mistah Swigs, you are a dirty bastard, allow me ta kill you or run ya outta town. Maybe den we can go ta nice dinnah by da ocean. Or ya can just kill me'."

Her eyes narrowed and she whirled on her heel, making to leave before he grabbed her arm, his eyes apologetic but the rest of him unyielding. Without turning to look at any of us she whispered, "I don't need your help. And I will take care of it."

This final statement was made with questions firing from my mind but the trio of boys exchanged an uneasy look full of dark significant meaning, and full of understanding. This understanding softened their faces, their eyes, and their words as they watched Camelot wrench herself free and stomp ahead, rushing to catch up with her. Remembering me, Mush put a hand at the small of my back and pushed me forward.

"Mush, wads going on?" I said weakly, hoping that would force him into an answer as I looked up into his closed expression, the picturesque of helpless damsel.

"It's a long, long story, Venice. And I ain't sure I've got da right ta tell it to ya."

"I think I have da right ta know. If it brings trouble, I should not be left in the dark," I retorted practical and stubborn and something cold and ugly flickered across his warm face. My tone softened as I changed my reasoning, "I'm scared fer her, Mush. I'm worried and I don't even know why."

"You'll be worse if ya know."

"Sometimes not knowing is worse than knowing."

He sighed and quickened his pace, narrowing our gap between the others. I only slowed mine. "I can't tell ya."

"Mush…"

"I said I can't tell ya," he snapped venomously and I cringed, never hearing him this harsh before. He did not look apologetic either. "If ya really want ta know all da ugly details take it up wid her. Or Jack. Or Spot."

This last name brought a surge of unwanted memories to the surface and I looked down to hide my blush. He shook his head, disdainful and knowing as he watched me struggle. "I ain't blind. None of us are."

"I don't know wad ya mean," I said stiffly and he rolled his eyes and yanked me forward, holding onto my arm to keep a quicker pace. As I watched the ground rise and fall with each step I took I willed it to open up and swallow me whole- I knew exactly what he meant.

A/N- well there it is, after a month of erasing it and wanting to throw the computer out the window. if it sucks bad, forgive me, and if its good, well i'd be ecstatic. Again, reviews make the world go round and if you want my world to stop ignore that lovely shade of purple button. i'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what you thought. anyway, thanks for reading :)

Shoutouts

Emba!- ahh, ain't suspense grand? the fans being turned on higher. well i hope that chapter wasn't a disappointment, especially since it took me a while to update, but i have most of the next chapter done with. thank you so, so much for being a loyal reviewer, i hope to hear what you thought. thanks again.


	19. Chapter 19: Nightmare on Duane Street

**Chapter Nineteen - NIGHTMARE ON DUANE STREET **

I was tired. Tired like I was drugged, every limb heavy and moving like I was underwater, and something cold and metallic was pressing against my eyelids as they fought to remain open, to watch by a dim light what was going on. Unfocused I just watched the shadows dance across the wall, putting shapes with them. A woodland elf here, a tea drinking rabbit there, an asshole over there.

I was not happy Spot was here. No, not happy were not the right words. Seeing his flaming eyes and his golden hair I had promptly locked myself inside a stall in the washroom and it had taken a good twenty minutes for Specs to coax me out. Now I was here lying on this spare bed, watching the shadows play, watching his shadow hunch over subdued and furious. He hadn't said a word, and if he had I hadn't heard it, had not even heard the whisper as he brushed past his sister. I glanced furtively at Camelot curled at my feet but her eyes were closed, her breathing soft and I did not have the heart to disturb her. She was trembling, and no blanket and no fire could help her. One sign she was still brilliantly awake; the other might be that her eyes were always open and snapped closed whenever someone looked at her, and I had only had a couple glimpses in a fraction of a second. I was pretty sure she had some extrasensory talent that allowed her to do this.

"Everybody is asleep," Mush reassured Jack for the umpteempth time and I winced hearing that word, but my presence was permitted, even requested, and I was not about to complain now, whatever my state and the hour might be. I had to dig my nails into my cheeks to make sure I did not drift into sleep, but I really was not too worried. My body craved sleep, but my mind was still very much awake. Nobody had given me an answer for my friend's little dilemma, not even a spare word for what was in the note (only Jack and Spot had read it) and we had just lingered around the lodging house until we craved the isolation of a spare room upstairs and retired there, feeling the pressure, the gazes that lingered a fraction too long, the fear that crackled like humidity. But it was so very cold.

"Ya doing okay, kid?" Jack asked softly genuinely concerned and I nodded so slightly I doubt he saw just as I doubted myself; terrified to blink in case I missed something vital, petrified to say something to offend or give too much away. It was an ironic time to be holding someone's hand now, when I needed the practicality of cold hard facts, not emotional baggage.

I felt the bed go down and knew he was sitting on the edge just beside me. He ran a gentle hand through my hair and brushed it soothingly back from my face, a comforting gesture like that from a parent to a sick child. Had I really sunk so low? Yet I shuddered and crawled within myself at his touch, too afraid some tear would leak or something would blurt out, and he felt this change in me, but did not remove his hand, and my admiration for him swelled until it could burst. I had spent so much time fighting him I had not bothered to look beyond that angry, defensive look and see what lay beyond; I hardly skimmed even his façade. I still was not sure if I wanted to.

"You should be asking Camelot dat question," I said emotionlessly, my voice purposefully loud enough so that she could hear me and I thought I felt her stiffen slightly, thought I heard her breathing slow. Her serene face was troubled now, hostility dancing across its soft edges. When I looked up at him he was staring at Camelot, knowing perfectly well what she was doing and did not press her about it. Some things you just did not tangle with, even Jack- this submissive fear was one of them.

This time I lowered my voice until only Jack could hear me, if he even could. "Please, tell me, tell me something."

His sigh was of a man condemned with no hope of busting the lock, when his friends had receded into the sunset and left him to die. His only control was the movement of his hands, and he ran a tired one through greasy tangled hair, his eyes moving reluctantly away from her like he was terrified something terrible would happen if he took his eyes away. As those penetrating orbs flowed with so much emphasis he seemed to be genuinely struggling to say something at all. Perhaps it was because I had finally said 'please', or maybe I was just behaving well enough lately. "We'se up heah cause I don't want da oddahs ta loose sleep ovah dis. You'se is up heah cause you might be involved. God knows yer involved wid everything lately."

I tried very hard to ignore Spots snort and scowled at the cowboy himself; I had some idea of what he meant, but it was very little, and before I could demanded he explain himself he turned away to glare fiercely at Spot.

It was in my nature never to settle for glaring. Softly, angrily, I snapped, "Wad do ya want now, Conlon? Ya want attention? Ya need a hookah?"

"Don't da two of ya start," Jack chided like we were school children. Spot opened his mouth but Jack cut across him, a harsh glint on his face. "Shut up, don't make me tell ya again."

He started to rise but for all that Spot was he was no fool when it came to territory- he was not at home and every breathing soul did not have to be submissive. Well, at least Jack didn't, and Spot did not want the trouble of trying to make him tonight. Too proud to give in, but too weak to fight, he growled, "Don't ya tell me wad ta do, especially wid her." He made_ her_ sound like a curse, something bitter in his mouth he wanted to spit out.

"I will tell ya, don't undermine me, Spot, don't ya dare." Jack rose and the bed rose with his removed weight, and he towered at his fullest- he was one of those guys you never knew how tall they were until they got angry. Now he was angry, his eyes flashing, his look dark. Spot rose as well, throwing his chair to the ground. "I don't want ya as me enemy, Spot. But dis is my territory, and she's my newsgirl. Ya insult either and ya got me ta deal wid."

I tried not to let my gratitude at his protection of me show, but for once I was honestly grateful- probably just because I was not used to Jack sticking up for me. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to make me look anything but weak but then I snapped it closed again. To say anything would be undermining him, and when he was doing so much I could not bring myself to downgrade his authority. Especially when he needed it so bad tonight.

I smiled as I saw Camelot moving her lips soundlessly, cursing something beneath her breath, or maybe praying, if she actually believed in anything more than this. She had not spoken since she'd stormed off in a huff, the metallic taste of fear hovering over her like an odor. I knew it pained her that Racetrack was nearly on the other side of the room, and in the height of crisis could not comfort her with the slightest touch, but always watching her, longingly, worried- but still across the room. Sitting beside each other would only be suspicious because they'd make it so, only because they knew they had something to hide. It was being taken out of proportion, especially when they were best friends, and their lack of contact would raise my own suspicions if I needed them. But they were excused; they had every right to be cautious with her brother in the room.

"Should da goils leave when dey get heah?" Kid Blink intervened with the unspoken, partially because I did not want the answer, and partially because the others did not know what that answer would be. I knew what he was talking about of course; a person high on the hierarchy from other boroughs. Jack had ordered messengers out as soon as we got back to the lodging house and they had not returned, but word had been sent along that soon we'd have honored guests. We were bombarded with glances and Camelot's mouth closed, as she tried harder to be thought of as sleeping. He noticed this and said bemusedly, "Well I guess it won't mattah if Camelot's sleeping. She's just anuddah person in heah, we can do widout."

"Ya bettah take dat back before I come ovah dere," she threatened with eyes still closed and the soft sound of laughter rang through the room. It felt good to smile, even if it was a faulty one.

Slowly, Jack nodded and my heart fluttered. "Yes. I think dey should stay."

"Camelot's not."

"Spot…" Jack reasoned and she did not say a word, but he held up his hand anyway.

"No, Jack. She might be yer newsgirl but she's my little sistah and I got da control heah. She ain't hearing none of dis."

"I'm gonna heah it anyway," she protested finally and sat straight up in bed, glaring at him and he did not look at her. "Damn it, someone's gonna tell me or I'se gonna be listening at da door. Ya can't protect me from dis, Spot, I know too much already."

"You'll be hearing wad I say you'll be hearing, and you'll be weah I say," he growled, his dominance flaring but her fire was born from his ice as she glared at him with a defiant raise of her chin.

"You may be my bruddah, Spot, but ya ain't me keepah."

He stalked predatorily closer to her and the tension was crackling between the key figures in the room and Racetrack's hand closed around the thin air, aiming for Spot's shirt that had always been feet away. Something in Spot's eyes made me want to dive for cover, or crawl into a hole and never come out. She flinched, but did not look away. His anger ricocheted off of her raging eyes and stung mine as I tried to deflect it, the raw pain dancing just beneath the surface of those lovely eyes. He was wrapped in his sickening guilt like an itchy, badly sewn blanket. He blamed himself. He thought whatever happened between her and Swig was his fault, that her cold fear and glistening tears was because of his failure. I longed to throw my arms around him when he fought with a self-hatred so deep it brought tears to my eyes, but at the same time I wanted to scream in his face, shout that he is right, that everything is his fault. That he had failed her. Something in my head said that'd be mean.

"Esmeralda Anya Conlon." Her full name meant trouble especially in a voice that was shaking dreadfully. If he was closer, I would put money on it that he would strike her, but he looked miserable enough to fall sobbing into her smaller arms. "You forget who you're speaking to."

"Sorry," she said roughly, but the apology was not heart-felt or even felt. It was said so that he knew that too, and as his gaze darkened he took a threatening step forward but Mush grabbed his arm to keep from striking. Much quicker Spot's hand thrust out and Mush stumbled backwards, colliding with Kid Blink.

He spat out, "Don't get in me way, ya know I can kill ya."

"I forbid her from it, Jack," Spot continued, now ignoring Mush panting and wiping the droplets of blood from his nose. I lifted myself off the bed, clenching my fists and took another step but my shirt snagged on Jacks hands. I struggled but he had a firm grasp on the back of my shirt and firmly yanked me back, until I stumbled and landed back on the bed.

"It's fine, Jack," Mush argued as Jack mimicked my steps forward and he glared enough to make the newsboy quiet, but did not take another step. Perhaps he realized the punch was thrown in anger so absolute you had no control; perhaps he just was sick of fighting.

"I'se staying, Spot, ya can't stop me," she protested stubbornly, standing now next to me and her fists were clenching as if she could fight him for the right of dominance. She would loose if it came to that, but maybe she would put up a good fight; but he was older, more practiced, and had the upper body strength that she just wasn't granted.

He glided towards her, his own fists clenching and seemed much more ready to just pick her up and throw her out of the room than actually take a swing at her in a fair fight. There was no fear in her eyes, just caution and blazing anger that bled her eyes into dark amber, the heat rushing to her face until it tinted it all. I winced, panicked, and looked around wildly for some help but those who met my gaze seemed frozen in time. I looked desperately at Mush and Blink but they shook their heads, mouthing it wasn't our fight, and as I searched out Jack he agreed helplessly. He seemed to know what I was about to do and glared forcefully, and I heard his meaning loud and clear- he could not do a damn thing about Camelot and Spot because they were blood, and she had disrespected him, but I was his newsgirl and if I intervened he would have to too. Sadly knowing he was right, but not caring, I turned to my last resort but Racetrack would not meet my eyes. Their anger, their pain, would be thrown full force and I was terrified of the emotional and physical harm that would come. Before he got within two feet of her, far enough to keep him at bay, close enough to do any damage, I thrust myself forward. It was out of line to step before her, and why I cared about that now I did not know but knew I should obey an unwritten code if I was going to help, so I just came up close to him. He was aware of everything, and his eyes narrowed and sparked with fury as I drew to him.

"Get back, Venice," he hissed through clenched teeth, trying to shove me but I angled my body so it did less damage and I stepped right back to him. I did not strike back, feeling his anger, feeling his pain, and knew he had lost all self control. I shook my head, feeling my hair fly, my eyes pleading, begging for him to stop this.

His hard face softened as he watched me helplessly, silently beg him, his cold blue eyes burning with harsh fire but as the lightest touch of humanity flickered across his eyes I choked, had things flutter around my heart, and my hands went clammy. It was a direct face off now and I heard their breathing, or rather lack there of, ready to step up if things got messy but I was sure (finally) that he would not strike out at me. And I could not think of them within inches of Spot, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline, the wild beating of my heart, remembering a realization that I had made only last night. It was hard to face him knowing it, but sadly I stared back, allowing all he did to me to envelope me completely. But I did not let go enough to loose my sense of self.

There was a confused, panicked look in his eyes, wilder than I'd ever seen, more lost than I knew, more afraid than I knew he could feel and wondered if my eyes mirrored his. It was pretty much everything I felt, mixed in with a lust I was not sure I found in his eyes- or maybe I was deliberately trying not to find it.

He was close enough to kiss me, but he did not, and I was left longing and unsatisfied but terribly happy he did not- I was not sure if I could ever come back from that. Instead, he forced himself another step closer to Camelot but he rocked like he forgot how he had gotten there, disoriented, and he blinked a couple times but the anger that had been there never recovered. It was there in spades, but not enough to have him strike the person he probably cared most in the world for. Unfortunately, she was ready, and this did not satisfy her own appetite for bloodshed.

"Wassamattah, Spot? Gonna cry?" It was not very creative but it did the job. He stiffened, the familiar anger back in his eyes and he stalked towards her as he raised a fist and she faced him squarely. Groaning underneath my breath without thinking I laid a hand on his arm, squeezing ever so gently. He paused, closed his eyes for some control, for some answer of what to do. My cold hands cooled his warm skin, flushed from fury, and I waited for him to shrug me off. He didn't.

"Enough, Esmeralda," he said with a finality she could not argue with. Disappointment lined her eyes, but so did relief as she leaned a little bit away from him. He shook his head, as if to clear it and continued, "You're right, I can't protect you from everything. And you have a right to hear what is to be said tonight, you're too involved not to."

I stared in shock, but the sheer open-mouth gasps crackled in the air; he turned his back to them all. This was a night of firsts. He had admitted she was right, and he had allowed her to disrespect him without punishment. It was too strange to see him this way.

He recovered a little of his pride by adding, "But next time, I ain't gonna be so easy on ya. Ya bettah nevah question me again."

She nodded; I knew she was thinking she definitely would, but was smart enough not to push him right now. My mouth was dry as he turned on his heel and stalked towards the window on the far side of this empty room and shoved it open with one graceful movement- he walked so gracefully, even after giving in. It was the stalk of a predator, beautiful, but so soft and so hard at the same time, each muscle working with each other instead of against. It caught my breath just to watch him walk, just to watch him slide out of the window and onto the fire escape. He disappeared in the night. Oh, I knew he'd be back, there was too much to happen that he would not. But for now, he did not exist because he decided not to.

"Do ya realize how lucky ya are?" Blink sighed and Camelot shrugged, sinking onto the edge of the bed but she was watching me like she saw more than I did, saw through me, saw everything that I was and that I wasn't. I shifted uncomfortably under her stare, finally snapping, "Wad?"

"I ain't seen anyone do dat ta him," Jack stated, shock written all around him and an emotion I could not place- admiration.

"Do wad?" I questioned uneasily, definitely not liking where this was going.

"Gotten him ta back down like dat," Racetrack explained, in as much awe as Jack.

I reasoned, "I'se just as stubborn wid as much of a tempah as Spot. I know da tricks of da trade."

"Ya didn't do anything ta him. Or say anything," Jack continued, the awe wearing thin as a few flickers of suspicion, of accusation flickered across his face. It hardened and he watched me attentively for every sign of reaction. Nope, definitely did not like where this was going. "Ya just looked at him and touched his arm lightly."

"I know wad I did, Jack, and I know wad I didn't do," I sighed tiredly and sunk onto the bed next to Camelot, which probably was not the brightest idea considering I felt her animosity even when I was standing. But for now, it was all I had. The suspicion, one that nobody dared to speak, was rising to an alarming level. Desperately I reasoned, "Look, he nevah really wanted ta hit her. And in da back of his head he knew I was right."

"Doesn't mattah," Jack shook his head stubbornly, like he wanted to believe whatever he thought. I was too afraid to ask what that was. "Spot nevah admits he's wrong, no mattah wad da cost. And especially cause its you'se."

"Oh yeah? And wads dat supposed ta mean?" I growled and Jack moved to stand right before me, leaving me with his authoritative gaze, the one that said he wanted to know everything. Everything that I wasn't willing to say.

"Ya know wad it means, Ven. Ya two haven't exactly been seeing eye to eye, more like fist ta fist," he shrugged and I sighed, flopping onto my back. I hoped they'd take this cue and leave me the hell alone. I felt, more than heard, Mush start to say something but Jack silenced him with a look.

"So, Cammie, wads wid Swig?" I knew I was completely out of line, but I needed a change of subject desperately, and I needed a decisive attack on the one who had set this all up. If she just listened to him, or if she just tried to reason, the suspicions at nothing would not be raised to an alarm, she herself would not be sitting so stiffly. She stiffened even further until I was sure the puppet strings would snap.

I was prepared for almost anything, even for her to take a swing at me, but not for her lower lip to tremble. If she would have accepted it, I would've wrapped her in a giant bear hug. I settled for remorsefully watching her and putting a hand on her shoulder, but she was not Spot, and she jerked away from me.

"Venice," Blink said reproachfully and I groaned, hearing Camelot protest it wasn't my fault, and as thankful as I was I could not take my mistakes anymore, was too frustrated with the attacks. I pushed myself off the bed and stalked towards the window, only mildly aware Spot was out there somewhere- I was too mad to care.

"Ya gonna go see Spot?" Jack grumbled his voice accusatory and I spun around on my heel, glowering at him.

"Yeah. Yeah I am." It was a lie, and I wanted to say more but was too sick and tired of this to think of anything but 'and don't be surprised if we're bouncy with joy when we come down' and could hope he'd pick up the innuendo. But even I knew that was out of bounds, especially with people who had warned me time and time again about his dangers. I just ignored their shocked faces, Racetrack's mutter of 'she's lying' and threw the window open and leapt out onto the fire escape, shutting it behind me and blocking them out. I sighed, and threw my hair back, not really wanting to go up to the roof or any higher- I was feeling too jumpy and paranoid tonight. So I just sank to the ground of that cool metal, out of sight and out of mind, and hugged my legs to me for any security and warmth they offered. The cold was a slap in the face as I thought about it, but not enough to have me go numb- warmer than the other nights. I took it as a stupid sign it wasn't wrong for me to storm out like a child.

I did not know how long I would have to be out here to get them to shut up, and I did not really want to be out here right now. The cool air was refreshing, but not refreshing enough. I crawled to the edge of the fire escape and peered through the bars, out into the brilliant night sky, and down into the alley, the streets below. It wasn't the most scenic of all places, but it was beautiful in its own realistic way, and I settled myself there. I needed a few gulps of air to cool the heat that had risen to my face from anger, my heart beat returning to normal or something resembling it.

Does it ever feel as if the whole world is against you? As if right now, they're whispering behind your back, greeting you with fake smiles and lying eyes as you stalk towards them? I was more alone right then, than I'd ever knew was possible and I sunk into the fire escape, curling myself around me, feeling the drowning depths of isolation. Everything was thick around me, and something pulled me down into voids I despised. It should make me happy that I had pulled Spot off Camelot but I'm really just a vulgar person inside.

I heard something stalking above me, heard the pound of his footsteps and I did not need to look up to know he was there. I felt the vibrations of it but would not admit up to it and just laid there, ignoring him, ignoring how awkward this was. Finally the pacing stopped. A soft voice said, "Wad are ya doing, Venice?"

"I came ta enjoy da view," I said seriously and his chuckle had my heart begin to trumpet. I looked up, unable to resist, and through the bottom cracks saw him on his hands and knees, peering down at me. His eyes were beautiful in the night- softer than they ever were, more blue-green instead of ice blue gray. "Da roof seems ta be our place."

Suddenly he became serious. "Ya shouldn't be out heah."

"I know," I admitted quietly as I settled back to look at him, lying flat on the ground. "They're a pain in the ass."

I saw him smile before he took it away, knowing he was not supposed to approve of that. "Yeah, dey can be."

"Can't live wid em, can't live widout em, kinda deal."

"Dere are a lot of things ya wish ya could live widout," he shrugged and I felt myself bristle, felt his knowing smile but something in his eyes taunted and tricked me, letting me believe against my instincts his words were out of habit. I could understand that. Sighing, I looked away, and down into the desolate alley below. Someone could be lurking below me, and I might never know, might not even know if a cold steel bullet bit into me that I was dying; it was enough to have me sit up straight and alert. He sensed this change in me, but I was sure he was more paranoid than I was so he did not cruelly mock me- ah, that human side again.

"You shouldn't be heah, either," I emphasized, reaching that point of pride and fighting for how I was lead around by the hand.

"But ya had ta come up and see me?"

"Yes, Spot, I want you, I need you. How can you see through me?" I tittered and I was violating his pride and well aware of him straightening up and giving me his most sexually appealing smirk. For a few heartbeats my eyes played around it, before I forced myself to look away. I knew he didn't miss it. "I thought you would be on da roof."

"Nevah feah, Brooklyn's always heah," he grinned and I groaned softly, loud enough so that he heard me. "And ya just nevah know when I show up."

"Yeah, and if ya 'just show up' in me bed tonight dere'll be hell ta pay," I threatened, sounding more menacing than I felt. For now it was just good fun. For now.

"In da morning," he agreed. "But when I'se dere yer gonna get wad you always wanted."

"Oh yeah? And wad dat might be, Spotaroo?" I had a feeling I knew the answer.

"Me," he said simply. Yup, I was right. I stared back at him, at a loss for words- he had no idea how close he was to the truth. But I did not want him like that, I'd go without to let him break my heart by using me like every other damn girl. "Spotaroo?"

"Kids today, got no standards," I cried in an elderly, wheezing voice and he did not smile, did not laugh, and just stared emotionlessly down at me. I shrugged and settled further into the fire escape. "I thought it was funny."

"You'se think a lot of things are funny," he sighed, and I knew it was not a compliment.

"Guys like happy goils."

"Well den you ain't getting any," he retorted and I froze, my gaze settling into a glare, not for teasing words but for the truth that sang beneath them. For the truth of breaking a smiling mask I knew I wasn't doing that well of keeping, but I did not know I had been doing that terribly either. I thought of how tired I always looked nowadays, of how defiantly I put at least three boys between the mirror and myself; I didn't want anything to do with my matted hair or my grimy skin, or this stranger staring back at me with sad, sad eyes. Damn you Spot Conlon, why must you know everything? You must triumph past your own mirror and toss your straight hair out of your eyes for a better perception of yourself, ignoring the girl lying in your bed moaning anxiously for you to warm her. You probably never even bade a goodbye as your grabbed your fading cap and closed the door with a sharp 'go home'.

These thoughts danced through my mind like they were memory as I glared up at him, and the curve of the women's leg with that small burn mark on her knee was familiar, the obsidian locks that fell around her yearning face brushing softly against my own. Her eyes glowed up at me and silently I begged her to move, to say something, anything, so he would not treat her like the dirt on his floor. She only sadly watched me before she rolled over and out of view. She was some subconscious trick that my mind was playing, the red light of danger, begging me to get out of something before I dug the hole deeper. I was too stubborn to stop digging until I reached the rocky end.

Something in my eyes must've frightened him because he looked apologetic for a moment, but he was too pompous to bow out gracefully. And that brought us back to what brought us both out here, of what happened in the bunkroom. He fell into an embarrassed silence that he had allowed himself to listen and be controlled, and I was embarrassed he had listened to me- it'd be so much easier if we just went back to hating each other. I could only wonder if I ever did truly if-you-were-bleeding-I'd-walk-always hate him.

I did not know how long we stayed like that, simply staring at each other with no emotion, fighting to keep it inside, fighting to keep it to ourselves, so lost inside our faces could not keep up and just remained a blank slate. Not that I was complaining.

He was suddenly right beside me and I twitched in surprise so bad my arm jerked so hard it clanged against the iron of the bars. I winced, rubbing it and darkly scowled at his laughing eyes.

"Do ya have ta sneak up on me?"

"Ya were watching me come down," he rebutted, but this was no mystery that I did not remember. When lost to our thoughts we watch anything that moves, but we never really see them. He was crouching beside me, eyes burning bright with intensity and feverishly he blurted, "Do ya wanna know?"

"Know wad?" I asked nonchalantly, but my heart was hammering for whatever he might reveal, my mouth was so dry. I half-expected him to pronounce his love for me, but I wanted to hit myself for the thought; he did not care for me, and I was being a foolish ninny who let herself get wrapped in a guy and just let them crush her.

"Know wad happened ta me sistah," Spot said mockingly as simultaneously I wondered how he could make me feel so inferior, and how surprised I was to hear him even offer. He had caught himself and his voice emptied of emotion, and he could be so tired he just did not have any emotion left. Only when I looked up at him, with the soft light playing against his eyes, did I see the pain, the guilt, and the anger that he was wrapped tight in, the bad blood he would not give up. I quirked an eyebrow, wanting to reach out to him but knew he'd just jerk away. So I gave him my attention. "Yer gonna find out sometime if Jack's letting ya stay in dere. Better hear it from me before some bonehead changes da story."

I gestured for him to go on and he took a deep, steadying breath, at the ledge of uncertainty knowing once he began to free fall there'd be nothing to catch him. "Six months before ya joined ranks Zane got his goil pregnant and didn't wanna put dem in danger, so stepped down from being my right hand. I got a new second, ta help keep me boys in line and keep things running smooth when I ain't dere. He hadn't been dere dat long, but he's a good fighter and da boys respect him, he's tough, and does wad needs doing wid no flinching. By den me sistah was in Manhattan, had been since she was eleven and people stopped being squeamish ta hoit a liddle goil. Now, he saw a lot of her since we danced between boroughs. Enough ta get ta know her, ta get ta liking da goil. I knew it too but I didn't wanna deal wid it, so I just convinced myself dat it was innocent. I was getting too used ta guys thinking she's pretty. And it was innocent, at least until his eyes started following her round da lodging house. Until he'd go ta lengths ta make her happy and went wherever she did, practically stalking her."

He took a staying breath as he sensed the pain in his own voice, fighting so hard to keep some control. My stomach panged to see him fight for so much pride; nobody should have to play invincible when they were hurting. I lifted my hand to touch him but he jerked away from me; disappointing but not unexpected. "He asked if he could court her some, and if it went well he'd ask fer her hand. I punched him in da eye and woulda done worse, but I was well rested and had a moment ta think when he'd fallen. She's me sistah, Venice, we'se been through a lot and I don't want her on dese foul streets. I wanted her off into something stable. So I allowed it; at least until I could see how he treated her."

He paused again, this time to wait for my reaction, for my accusations. I had none. "She acted like she was in love. He treated her right, I made sure of it, and she was all giggly and happy all the time, bouncing around da lodging house. It got annoying after a while, but she was happy, and I was happy for her. I was a bit surprised ta tell ya da truth. I always thought Racetrack was interested and she was head ovah heels fer him."

I tried to hide my blush, tried to show my surprise, tried to scoff but it came out half-hearted. I could easily guess that she thought he was indifferent and moved onto something she had a chance with; Camelot did not seem the type to notice a boy's interest. Spot was too troubled by these ghosts of memory to notice. "Racetrack seemed ready ta attack when she told him bout her and Swigs. He was da foist ta find out I guess, he is her best friend."

"Dats why you thought he was interested?" I asked nonchalantly, feeling the pressure of lying to him but he did not seem to notice, too enveloped in himself and his story. Technically I wasn't lying, not until he directly asked me at least.

"No, no, no. Most of me boys, and most of Jacks boy, were not too happy wid da match, but only Jack complained ta me, and I have a feeling da one's wid da black eyes round dat time complained ta Swig or Camelot. Its just da way dey'd look at each oddah, or da way he'd watch her walk round da lodging house like she's a goddess, an image from his dreams. Or how she'd laugh at all his dumb jokes, and always want ta go to da racetracks wid him. Dat did not completely stop when Swig and her started, so I just thought it was…well, she found him funny. Somehow."

"Would ya want dem ta get together?" I inquired innocently, playing with a strand of free hair, braiding it, and re-braiding it, making an eye-contact so intense it was overly zealous. I was afraid if I looked away he'd assume more than I was willing to say, though I knew that I was taking it to the other extreme, where he probably could read me if he looked. We'd see a lot of things if we looked.

He was quiet for a second, and I feared he was lost to himself, or even asleep, but then slowly said, "I ain't sure how I'd feel bout dat. I don't want no one wid her, but I can't keep her locked up forevah, I don't want her ta be an untouchable." He let his thoughts trail away before he hardened, shook his head. "No, I wouldn't allow it. She deserves bettah."

Feeling possessive and defensive of him I protested, "Racetrack's a good guy. One of da best I'se met."

"She's gonna be doit poor wid him, Ven. Once yer a street rat all yer life its hard ta rise above."

"Love's more important den money."

"Yeah, dats something da two of dem would say. But it's easier to love wid money. When yer poor, ya fight too much, and yer unhappy. I want da best fer her."

"So ya think some guy is gonna swoop outta da sky, a good wealthy man, and yer sistah is gonna be swept off her feet. Hate ta break it ta ya sweetheart, but it just don't woik like dat. Racetrack's a good guy, and he'd make yer sistah happy, if not rich. He'd treat her right."

"Oh I'd make sure of dat, I'd make sure he was scared shitless of me," he growled and looked up surprised as clear laughter danced along his ears. I blushed darkly at my ringing laughter- I always hated how a boy's and a girl's laugh were so different, and he seemed to have forgotten this from the way he was staring at me. Until he smiled, and that smile was rare and all for me. Mentally I promised not to forget how he looked with his hair blowing in the light breeze, eyes bright and blue against the light of the window, smiling for me, at me, with me.

It was gone too soon. A dangerous thought crossed his mind and he sat up a little straighter, eyeing me. "Why are ya saying dis? Ya think dere's something going on between him and her dat I don't know about. Again!"

"No, Spot, calm down," I soothed, smoothing his hair away the way Jack had done and the effect was immediate, surprising but effective and he settled back down, his breath returning. He laughed a little.

"Yer right, I was being stupid."

"Well ya don't have ta go dat far. It ain't stupid ta think Race being good enough fer her."

"Ya just don't understand, Venice," he grumbled, crossing his arms to sulk and as his tousled hair fell into his eyes he reminded me more of a six-year-old than ever before. I was too tired to deal with a child tonight. Waving a hand I muttered, "You're right, I don't and I never will if you never explain yourself."

"I don't explain myself to anyone," he snapped and as much as I could understand this it did not justify it.

"Well good, I'se glad you'll have dat when ya got nothing else," I said furiously and his eyes darkened, his face smoothing into nothing. Fed up with it I snapped, "Just get on wid da story."

"If you'd stop interrupting maybe I would," he retorted but I knew his anger wasn't towards me...well, not all of it anyway. "Can't ya see I don't like tawking bout it? Now…oh yeah…he had dis pretense of going back ta his wealthy family and bringing Camelot wid him and making her his wife. I liked dat plan. I liked it enough ta convince her, but it didn't take too much convincing."

He rolled his eyes before his face became deathly serious, eyes glazed over, squeezed tight in pain. His voice came out softer and softer. "I didn't know wad he was. Nobody did. She trusted me, and listened and let him court her. I was watching dem close, close enough ta see he acted like he was obsessed wid her. Following her, always tawking bout her. I was beginning ta think he was a sociopath. But I didn't say anything cause she was just so damn happy. He lured her into security with whispers of his love, and made her believe dey would marry in da summah and it didn't matter if she stayed…chaste. He made her believe she would be lonely if she didn't, made her feel guilty cause 'he did so much fer her, and dats all he was asking' fer dat kind of promise ta him. She's too idealistic, too romantic, ta deny it."

"I think yer quick enough ta know wad happened next. It only went downhill from dere and he started making me boys and Jacks boys uncomfortable. He would not leave her alone, every day he was by her side. I membah Jack finding him looking through her things in her room. It started making Camelot uncomfortable; especially when he knew things about her dat she nevah told him. Yet she felt safe fer some reason, and loved, so she didn't confront him bout it. It was too awkward to anyway. By den some of me boys was saying da only difference between him and a full fledged sociopath predator was he was manipulative enough ta convince her she was in love too. Dey didn't say it around me, I wouldn't let em, cause I didn't want ta believe it. I wanted her safe so bad."

"One day he got violent wid her. She had gotten in a fight wid one a da Delancey's and her jaw was swollen, so it hoit ta kiss him. He wasn't happy and roughed her up. Den he demanded dat dey…reconcile… She was furious and refused to, tried ta walk out da door. She says it wasn't rape since dey was together, but she said no, she pushed and punched and bit and kicked. It was fucking rape."

I thought I'd be sick- I could see her auburn hair, could hear her screaming as her tiny body was obscured with that beast leaning in over her, laughing like he had done at how absolutely broken she was. I could feel my eyes stinging. "He still was acting like her stalker, but she was scared of him now. She tried not ta make him angry and went ta lengths ta avoid him; we all noticed da abrupt change. I just figured dey had a fight. I was actually hoping dey'd split."

"Den he began ta change, still acted like some sociopath but he'd go away fer long periods of time. All she did was get real worried, cause da change was so noticeable. She fancied herself in love and was afraid he stopped loving her. She started waiting round fer him, and it made me sick ta see her rely so much on anybody. When he did come back they'd always be fighting, screaming, throwing stuff, and she started wearing long sleeves. She's a clumsy kid so I whenever she got a bruise on her face I refused to think much of it. But when it started happening more I got some idea of wad was going on. Dere'd be hell ta pay. I went out looking fer him but couldn't find him. Me boys said he was around a lot but I nevah saw him, and ended up trying ta get someone ta tail him but he always slipped away somehow. Well, I knew he was still seeing her cause bout a month latah she came sobbing ta me, scared ta death she was pregnant. I didn't even know dey were…seeing dat much of each oddah. She still hadn't even told me, never mind da whole rape thing. I didn't know wad ta do and Jack said it was too early to tell but I dragged her off ta some doctah anyway. Dey said it was too early, but Swig got woid of it and made a little visit ta her in da night and beat da shit outta her, so if she was pregnant he woulda killed it. Her girly instincts said she was, and dat son of a bitch killed it. He fucking killed her child."

I did not realize my hand was rubbing my stomach; I was numb to everything, trying not to let it rush attack me as he stopped to breathe and get his control back. "Now I was gonna get him, and den I was gonna make him wish he wad dead. Gonna let him believe he'd live. Den I was gonna kill him slowly. Especially when I learned dat lately he'd been coming back and it was rape. But again, he slipped away. I don't know how he did it."

"I didn't know. Nobody did. He's a brute who wants nothing more den sex and bloodshed, dem at da same time is bettah. He got dat wid her and she still has da scars. Latah I found out dat he is truly a sociopath and was really stalking her, had been long before his sorry ass showed up in Brooklyn. He had it all planned out, he was gonna get me ta trust him, ta get ta her. Part of da reason he wanted her was because she's me sistah. Part of da reason he wanted her was so he could get leverage wid Brooklyn. Da rest of it was up ta him and her. He still wanted her even aftah both Brooklyn and Manhattan were looking ta kill him, and da oddah boroughs too, he was still convinced he could make her love him. As stupid as he is fer toying wid her he ain't dumb enough to show up again. Until now. I don't know wad da fuck he wants, and I don't know wad da he's doing. I'd go find him and kill him now if Jack wasn't having dis get together. I think part of da reason is ta stop me from doing dat. There've been threats ta us before, but not like dis. Not like wad was in dat note."

The tears burned hot salty crevices in my skin and I could not look at him, the story, the history was too much without the self-loathing anger and pain in his voice, within him. I understood now why she was so guarded, defensive, and I understood his need to protect her beyond reality. I did not want to understand, I just wanted this to go away. I kept the hand over my mouth to keep from gasping, begging for control, but I didn't really want it. I felt him run a hand over my hair like Jack had, and I stiffened- the touch was enchanting, but I could not stand him comforting me.

"I should be comforting you. Not da oddah way around," I started, pushing myself up to sit beside him and he shook his head, golden hair tousled and flying.

"No," he said firmly. "I've had months ta deal wid dis, its shocking ta you still."

"She's yer sistah," I argued. "And ya hate yerself because dis happened."

He turned away from me, not allowing me to see the truth, knowing I already had and shielding himself from knowing he was that vulnerable, that human. I reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, keeping it there even when he thrashed. "Spot, it wasn't yer fault. I know ya ain't gonna listen and hoid it hundred a times before, but ya didn't know. How could ya have?"

"I'se her bruddah, Venice," he said, something I never heard from Spot low and guttural- a whimper. He looked so lost, like a child you wanted to take off the streets and feed. "I shoulda been watching it bettah. I shoulda looked inta him."

"He was your right hand man. Your friend."

"It don't mattah, ya get dere from dominance, fighting, and respect. I don't have ta know anything bout him fer him ta being me second. When he started taking interest in Anya I shoulda forgot trusting him, forgot who he was and started ovah."

"He was a mastah of deceit, Spot. Ya couldn't have known," I soothed, crawling so close to him the wind could have us touch. For once I let it, curling into him, and he wrapped an arm around my waist like I was the only anchor he had.

I could not be sure but I thought I felt the weight of a thousand words fall atop my head in the weight of an acid tear. Listening to his heart beat wildly, I was almost sure I heard him choke on them during his fight for masculinity. If he was crying he did not want me to know and I had no right to it and like I always did I should ignore it, and hate myself a little more for it. But I could not. I reached up and my fingertips touched his chin, gently turning his face to look down at me and my heart clenched tightly at the absolute pain in his eyes, at the hatred in them. I didn't realize I was crying too, crying for him.

"Don't pity me!" he shouted, grabbing my arms and shaking me. I was not scared of him yet…close, but he had not forced me to those lengths. My fear was because I knew what feeling something so strong did to you- it made you loose all control. I wanted to say it wasn't his fault but knew he'd never believe me and in truth I wasn't sure if I believed it enough myself. There was that bitter voice inside where the doubt lay; he was right, he should have looked into him more when he realized Swigs was interested in his sister. He should have taken the time to see what he was instead of lying to himself until he could not separate fantasy from reality, to the point where he saw what he wanted to believe and not what was. He should not have made his sister aware of his ruthlessness, so she would be too scared to run to him once Swigs attacked.

I did not try to stop the kiss I knew was coming, and let it flow through me, in me, responding just as hard and just as forcefully knowing that was what he needed. He was fighting to loose himself in me and I fought for control, digging my nails into the fire escape so I would not be dragged off into him. I hardly realized when they left its solidity and wrapped around his neck. I felt him wrap an arm around my waist and bring me in close to him, the other gripped in my hair. We flew against each other, through each other, and into each other, like we were part of one body, one soul, feeling what the other felt and feeding this fire. It felt like my skin was on fire as he ran his hands along my arms, pushing me back against the fire escape. Leaning over me I wrapped hands tighter around his neck, pressing myself into him to forget and save myself, too afraid that I'd loose him- that he'd pull away and we'd never get what this was back. I felt so safe, but so dangerous, so unpredictable, like a wild untamed thing that was running through the wind, knowing I'd fall, but knowing that the wind would catch me again. I gripped his hair as hungrily he moved his lips further down me, moving against my neck, further, unbuttoning the top of my shirt and caressing it. I was mildly aware of the skin beneath my light undershirt chilling, was only mildly aware my overshirt was sliding off my arms as I worked on his own shirt and caught his own lips. Primitive guttural sounds were reaching an all out crescendo. His hair brushed against my cheeks as I grabbed at him, my nails running down his arms, grabbing for him, refusing to let go. I didn't know who needed this more.

It was the distant sound of footsteps in my heightened senses that brought me painfully grabbing for his arms, craning my neck, close to screaming as my skin burned where he touched. I squirmed slightly, dropping my hands from his shirt as he leaned over me, the weight of him hardly touching me but enough pressure for me to groan and try to kick him off. I knew I probably did not have the sense to stop if it weren't for my starvation for pretense, for my morals to remain intact for another's eye. He lifted his head up and stared intensely into my fearful eyes, a yearning there, and a fear to yearn for it probably mirroring my own. His ears pricked when he heard the pair of footsteps.

Merry voices were joining them as they turned into the alley and he shrugged, pressing his lips to my neck but I twisted and squirmed enough to have him look back up with pitiful wanting eyes. Pleading I looked back; I knew if he kept at it I did not have the self-control to shove him off, and I knew the control was in his hands. Cussing under his breath he rolled off me and his hands tightly grabbed my waist. He pulled me over him and onto his other side, pressed tight against the wall and blocked from view as he settled against me and pushed as far back into the shadows as we could get.

"Spot, dat you'se?" a voice lilted from below us and I thanked the stars that he had come, no matter that I was filled with lust and wanting.

"Ya seen anybody else like dis?" he retorted smoothly, drenched in arrogance but as his muscles flexed to hide me and act nonchalant I finally found that cockiness attractive.

"Fortunately, no," a strong male voice laughed, or more barked. "Now who's dat poor goil yer hiding?"

I cringed and crawled inside myself, fear crawling in ice where he had touched and I curled further into the shadows aimlessly. I had no chance of not being noticed now. Spot sent me a sideways glance but only tossed that brilliant head at them and gave a graceful shrug that could mean everything.

"Can't blame her fer not wanting to be seen wid you'se," the lilting voice jibed and Spot snorted.

"She'd be so lucky. Dis is Manhattan's goil, Venice."

"Really?" the strong voice said incredulously. "She yer goil too?"

"Hell, dey won't admit it," Spot chuckled, that gross macho side of him rearing its ugly head. I thwacked him in the back of the head, the sound making a nice effect and their laughter grew until it filled the alley. Glaring at me he mumbled "Seems she won't admit it either."

"Well good fer her," the voice barked and I still could not get a clear view of him- I wasn't too enthusiastic to be noticed at the moment. "We'll be seeing you in a minute, we're coming up."

"Don't get lost," Spot said sarcastically and the voices shouted and hollered and cursed him, displaying their manliness. Once they had left he turned back to me, grinning. I batted my eyelashes at him stupidly, smiling seductively and eyeing him like a ninny.

"Oh, Spot, yer so manly, my big grizzly bear," I said breathlessly, running a hand down his arm and he shrugged away from me before wrapping an arm around my waist. Leaning his head in dangerously close he whispered, "Don't mock me, Lani. I don't like it."

"I'm sure you don't," I said seriously, trying to move my head but his eyes burned too intensely.

"Do you like getting me angry? Does it give you some thrill, do you think I like you acting like a man?"

"Well we all know you eye Jack in dose tight pants," I smirked and his grip on my waist tightened. I growled out, "Wads wrong wid ya?"

"I got an idea. How bout I do da asking and you do da answering."

"How bout you do da jumping and I do da cheering," I snapped, gesturing wildly to the ledge and his eyes danced with that curiosity at finding someone who could make threats and not back away from them, who could grumble out insults with flashing eyes, while you wondered just how serious they were. I challenged him and I knew it well, probably the only reason he was still pursuing me, probably the only reason he was daring to open up to me. We were alike in many ways, him and me, in more ways than I wanted to know.

"Lani." Uh-oh, sorta real name, I'm in trouble now. He took my hand in his, squeezed gently, and I fought the familiar gooseflesh, fought the involuntary flutter of my heart and fought my eyes fluttering closed. His hand fit in mine like a piece I had lost long ago, but I could not think about that now. He wanted honesty, and if he wanted to hear me make an ass of myself I was sure as hell willing. Maybe then he'd just leave me alone.

"How long is dis gonna go on for, Spot?"

"How long is what?"

"Don't be coy, I mean wads happening now. Da liddle kisses, da long ones, da tendah moments and da not so tendah. I mean, wad da hell are we doing heah?"

"Yer giving in ta yer wants," he grinned wolfishly, leaning me down and propping himself on top of me, hands pinned on either side of my head. My glare stopped him, and he pouted but tried to look attentive. "Wad do ya want me ta say, Venny?"

"I want ya ta nevah call me Venny again," I said forcefully and he grinned, storing the name in his memory for future use. I groaned, grumbling, "Spotaroo."

Changing the subject he quickly sighed, saying, "I don't know wad we're doing."

"So are we gonna go doing dis in front of people, or just when we'se alone, and just in dose rare moments when we ain't fighting?"

"We supposed ta do anything else?"

I paused before answering this, refusing to fall into one of his traps. His eyes were glittering with suspense and that knowing look had me wince, reminding me who I was talking to. No, there'd be nothing more between us and I was stupid for suggesting it; especially when that is what he wanted. To get me to suggest that I wanted him, needed him, so he could work his charms and have me in bed by midnight. Fuck him. "No."

"Venice," he said quietly, his eyes stern and forceful but I rolled out from under him. He grabbed me by the arm, preventing me from swinging all the way around, and my leg jerked out enough to kick him. His curses were quiet and fluent and I fought to sit upright. His stare seemed to last an eternity, but I was too angry to care, as was he. Before hurtful words were hurtled he jerked his head towards the window. "Ya bettah be getting inside."

"And you?" I was well aware of the ice in my tone.

"Ladies foist," he said curtly. "It'd look suspicious if we both came in at da same time. Personally, I don't care but since yer so adamant about keeping up appearances and I'se a generous gentleman I'se allowing it."

"Oh, yer allowing it, is dat right?" I snorted, growing sick of this chauvinistic pompous ass. Still, I had to think about the weight of his words. He was right, I was playing the card of hypocrisy, always pretending I did not care about appearances, but it was obvious, even to him. Sighing I shook my head, said, "I don't care," and he looked just as surprised as I felt. Especially when I realized I did not.

"I thought you were so firm in proving dere's nodin between us. Even ta yerself." I chose to ignore this little comment, hearing the one word that changed the meaning of that phrase; lying to myself.

"Dose boneheads down dere already saw us together. It'll seem like we're trying hard ta covah anything if we come in at different times," I shrugged and he nodded, this logic hard to argue with.

"Jack'll be angry if he thinks anything," Spot reminded me and I smiled at the thought. "So yer just doing dis outta spite."

"Something like dat. Problem?"

"None at all, I like dat in a goil," he grinned, hauling himself to his feet and offering me a hand up. I ignored it and helped myself, balancing with the fire escape and moved my hand just in time to miss his own- he did not take to denial well, and if he could would force his hand into mine just for that split second. Sticking my tongue out at him he made a face that I had trouble containing my laughter at, sure that it lilted through the window as he slid it open. Not bothering to offer me his hand he at least waited for me to climb in, before he followed and we fell against the floorboards together with seven pairs of eyes on us.

**Shoutouts**

Morbidlyartistic- How are the newsies going to pay RENT! Rent is phenomenal. I understand busy, and I'm so happy you take the time to read this and review. Spot ticks me off too, but he's getting better...almost. anyway, I know this chapter was mostly background info but stay tuned for more...stuff. anyway, thank you again.

Emba- i don't really want suspense to kill, maybe maim. I know this chapter was mostly background info, so stay tuned **for** future developments. wow, i feel like a weather guy. As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing, its truly appreciated. I hope you keep at it.


	20. Chapter 20: When I offer you survival

**Abstract Images, Chapter Twenty**

"Look wad da cat dragged in," Jack's dry voice orated and as it slapped me in the face anything that was not rapidly bruising was deflating, for example my very pride. Cat calls and chortles darkened cheeks too bright to change anymore, and I clutched the dark wood of the ground and prayed that the dirt would cover me entirely, because I already was a grain falling into the hardwood.

Boots moved rhythmically across the floor and my eyes squeezed tight in suspense because I could not take another disappointed and humiliated face for my own (thought accidental) inadequacies. Soft hands brushed away dark hair that stuck to me like a shield and my hands were too busy groping the ground to push the hand away as my hair was brushed back from my face- if anybody could not find me before, here I was! Right here on the floor, shirt dragged too low for modesty's sake with rapidly bruising sides and a bloody nose, without one shoe since the window had taken it when I had come tumbling through. Thank you ladies and gentlemen, your empathy and understanding has been helpful in this time of need.

Spot squatted above me to check for consciousness and I did not trust that I would not faint if I tried to get up on my own. Close to my ear he whispered "are you okay?" and I had enough control of my neck to nod, not sure if he was whispering for my own sake or because he did not want to be seen caring the slightest bit about me; I was betting on the latter. Louder and clearer this time he chuckled, "Ya shoulda taken me hand."

A ripple of amusement encircled the room, before I turned the tables and retorted, "I'd take da floor to you any day."

"Wads wid goils and wanting to 'walk all ovah' us men?" he laughed at his own cleverness, and I was not sure if the other laughter was because they found him funny or utterly stupid. I would have rebutted but my head throbbed and I didn't care enough to put in the effort.

Reading my tired eyes he held out a hand, hopeful but pushing myself up and shoving his hand away was all he expected and all I would usually give. I almost ignored it just because of that little comment about never accepting help. Unfortunately I could not stand on my own and held my hand out, feeling his hand enclose warmly around mine, hard from years of work but the soft of a practiced lover and firm as he gently hauled me to my feet, steadying me before I could collapse again. He pulled me to him until the side that had not touched the humiliation of the floor rested against his hip and as surprised as I was by this I was yet more when his eyes looked me over to check for any signs of serious damage. Finding none they hardened in warning, the Spot Conlon I knew back and a sign I was humiliating them all. With my free hand I readjusted my shirt so everything that needed to be covered was, mildly wondering why he kept his hand locked around mine.

A few whistles and cat calls rebounded around the room from the braver souls but with Spot's icy look the room fell as close to silent as it would ever get. I felt more than saw his satisfied smirk, and he basked in his absolute power and rule, turning gloating eyes towards me. Unamused I stared back; my sense of humor had been gone with my pride. His smile only fell a little as he tried to read me, but the frostiness with which we had left each other was still in the air and he could not be bothered to look deeper when he was so very angry with me. Glad we're feeling like ourselves.

His hand fell to the small of my back and before I could whimper in protest he pushed me forward lightly, guiding me toward the bed that Camelot had deserted. Spot Conlon leading a girl toward a bed, what a surprise. But I knew that wasn't the case; he just wanted to prove he was in control. As we drew closer Mush caught my eye, cinnamon skin glowing and warm eyes dancing with concern and a protectiveness that was bristling at the sight of Spots hand on my back. Ignoring Spot was not healthy, but Mush chose it and beckoned me beside him without extending an invitation to the golden haired and cane topped newsboy beside me. I should not go to him but there are too many should nots and not enough should do's and I drew away from Spot and took my place beside Mush.

Ignoring this slight he nodded approvingly towards Mush just to prove he had control over our lives, before he stalked across the room to where his sister was slumped on the floor, Racetrack at her side. Their hands lay carelessly beside each other, his pinky curled around hers but they jerked away as he approached and took a stand beside her. It would all be very amusing on a stage, or when I wasn't dripping blood and too humiliated to meet anybody else's eyes.

Mush, however, eyed me and I raised my chin defiantly, but he was looking for more than blood and scrape from my fall, but for any sign of mistreatment. Especially that which did not come from the window. I closed myself away and hoped I did not give away too much, but I didn't like how aggressively he looked at Spot.

I blinked stupidly, feeling the warm blood in my nose. I touched it lightly, and pulled back to find myself red handed.

"Damn." For my nose, before I saw Spot. _Daaam!_ Furious gray eyes found mine and promised retribution for the public humiliation, promised a beating to Mush, and saw everything that never was and everything that jealousy hallucinated like a drug. It hurt worse than I thought to see him hurt, betrayed after he had confessed so much of a closer betrayal. He had trusted me and I had failed him. But I was tired of holding everyone's hand (literally and figuratively) and I would not let myself be used like Spot wanted.

"If dis happens every night den I'se moving back to Manhattan," that lilting voice was back and bouncing towards me as a figure emerged from the doorway, probably fresh out of the washroom- it was cleaner in the shadows than the daylight. His eyes caught my attention against my unwillingness to look up, a brighter blue than I'd seen on any human, and he looked at me with such intensity I felt that my soul was being read, and vulnerably I looked back at him and the way his curly light brown locks fell to his shoulders. His smile was pure with full lips as he looked down at me and offered a rag and cup of water.

"For the blood," he specified and I eyed the stranger as I took it, trying to look cool and haughty but that intensity cut me down. He was probably not a newsie, too old to be one, somewhere around twenty-five.

"It isn't as bad as it looks," I mumbled by way of thanking him. Jack's cough was more than a little obvious, and blue eyes seemed bemused more than angry at my disrespect, and Jack's attention to it.

"Do you know manners?" Jack called calmly from his place by the door.

"Don't feel too liable, Jacky, I'se been under yer eye for just but two weeks. Can't house train a wild dog in two weeks, now can ya," I excused myself as I dipped the rag into the bowl, listening to blue eye's clear laugh. The water was frigid, but I did not mind since it relieved the warmth the blood was, warmth I never wanted.

Sighing he did not bother to retort, knowing he did not have the best of manners with that 'cat dragged in' remark. "It bettah not be broken."

"Or wad? You'll soak da window?" I retorted as I dabbed at the blood. "It's fine, just scratched a bit."

"And the rest of you?" blue eyes questioned, standing authoritatively before me (who did he think he was, leader?) and though I knew his concern was genuine I detested the look in his eyes, that made me aware he wasn't only referring to physically.

Gritting my teeth I said, "I'm fine." Their traded glance said they didn't believe me, and though I never really believed it myself I kept myself defiant and cool.

"Dis is wad fell on me doorstep," Jack gestured towards me and as I mimed my heart being crushed he blew me a kiss. "Venice, dis is Wolf, an ole leadah of Manhattan."

Oh, so yes, he did think he was leader. I nodded my greetings and simultaneously knew that he deserved more respect than that, but rarely was what I should do and what I actually did the same. He had seen as many bloody newsies and broken hearts as Jack had, and that intensity he could not have been just born with but despite all that I just continued to dab at my nose and concern myself with what was going on around me.

"Ya ever hoid dat curiosity killed da cat?" Wolf's soft voice grasped my attention away from Camelot desperately trying to catch Spot's eye and I was startled, wondering if he was watching all that I had. No, the anger in his eyes was beginning to burn. "Well pride got da newsie hoit real good."

"Should I kiss yer feet, or do ya have a ring dat ya prefer?" I grumbled and my thigh burned with Mush's stinging blow, my eyes watering but he did not seem the least bit sorry. Furiously I looked towards Jack but his anger far exceeded Mush's and I knew I would suffer a far greater punishment if I did not do as I was told and show some respect.

So how did you show respect to a retired newsie leader? Bow? Spit-shake? Offer your soul? I settled for a slight nod of the head, and a polite, "I don't know how I could have been so rude. Well, I do know, but dats wad ya say, ain't it?" I stumbled through my words and looked to Jack, who just sat attempting to be stern but ended with a slight smile and a shake of the head.

"Yeah, but a simple 'I'm sorry' woulda done just fine."

"Eh, if pride got da newsie hoit real good, lack of it got 'em hoit woise," I shrugged, glancing at the blood and hoped beyond hope that Jack wouldn't get mad enough to set it bleeding again.

"Ya know," Wolf started, those bright blue eyes burning. "I don't know whether ta beat da livin daylights outta her or shake my head and laugh."

"I'se toin between da two of dem most of da time," Jack sighed absent-mindedly, keeping a wary eye on Mush and Kid Blink who seemed less than pleased with Spot's attitude tonight. They were keeping out of harms way but with a few swift strides they could be too close to him, and their anger was brewing too close to the top for rational thinking. They could not beat him in a fair fight, but they weren't thinking along those lines- only how many punches could be thrown before they hit the floor. Even I did not like the way Blink was standing beside Mush, saying more with their eyes than with their words, and casting dark looks towards Camelot and me. Of course they did not expect me to find it obvious at all when Mush was sitting right beside me. Jack's eyes were cautious, guarded, his muscles tense and ready to intervene before Blink and Mush got themselves hurt.

I felt more than saw Wolf shake his head to clear faded memories like old photographs yellowed until the faces were smudged and unrecognizable, until the times blended in with them all. He had seen them before I had when they were only a couple years younger but centuries more innocent, and I nearly felt his heart constrain that they grew that fast, that hungry. But as Blink whacked Mush on the head for something and Mush shoved back a smile played on his lips. "Nah things don't ever change all dat much. Gawd I miss it heah."

"Aw its not so bad weah you'se at," Jack argued, carefully training his own bitterness as he looked around the grimy room, at Blink and Mush's slap fight and Camelot's dirty face. His eyes rested on Spot's sad and angry expression, and he lowered them tiredly. "Heah, ya ain't got no future. Life is wad da headlines tell ya it is."

"It could be woise," I protested meekly, so unused to listening to him talk so bitterly of our home, of our lives. Yeah, it was not perfect but it was better than most of what I've seen. Here we had something to call a family, someone to watch our backs; we had the freedom that everywhere else craves.

"I know, Venice," Jack said and I wasn't sure if he was being honest or just sheltering me from his own loneliness. "But da grass is always greener on da oddah side."

"Yer right," Wolf laughed, watching the two of us with understanding, even reminiscent eyes. "It ain't so bad weah I'se at."

"Bettah not be," a sharp female voice cut through the worlds that separated each section from the other and I raised an eyebrow at this newcomer, never having expected one of those to show would be a girl. Her white hair glowed in the gas lamps and moonlight as she stood close to the doorway, beside the other man I had heard, her long legs crossed and her arms resting on her hips. Looking her up and down she had a certain beauty about her that I had never seen, an icy, brambly beauty that most probably did not see in her stormy gray eyes and sun tanned skin. It did not take much imagination to see a wolf and an ice princess together.

His laugh was a clear jingly howl as he beckoned for her to come closer and her graceful walk attracted the eyes of most of the men in the room, her long legs and full body being put to the best use. My head snapped towards Spot and he was immobile, but watching her too with the lust he never lacked much of. Jealousy roared its ugly head at seeing him watching with such hunger, such challenge as she melted into Wolf's side and he wrapped a muscled arm around her thin shapely waist.

"Are you alright?" Jack said, leaning in close to me; I thought he had been as caught up with this white haired girl as Spot had been. I had not realized how darkly and pained I had been watching Spot, but as my face relaxed I had a migraine from staring so hard. I blinked to clear my vision, hoping the colored specs were only a temporary thing.

"Peachy," I spat out through gritted teeth and I felt his hazel eyes on me but turned away, from him, but especially from Spot. I did not need him to turn and see how he had affected me so. I tried to keep my face relaxed as I looked at the couple, but the migraine was a sign that I was glaring again.

Her challenging smirk greeted me from where she loomed somewhere around five eight, a fitting match to Wolf's towering height. Camelot's sudden appearance stopped us from saying anything, as the smaller girl took away leg's attention.

"I didn't know you'd be comin too, Ranger," Camelot said but she did not sound disappointed at this surprise, and her smile was not cold as she spat in her hand. Doing the same, Ranger shook but pulled the girl into a short but sweet embrace, and as they drew away Ranger did not have the same enthusiasm Camelot seemed to have-she was happy to see her from the warmth in her smile, but there was something restrained, guarded, and worried as she looked her up and down, her eyes lingering on her thinner than usual waist, and the fading bruise on her jaw line, but mostly on eyes that I realized now were just as guarded. This time it was just not to give anything but bliss away.

"Wolf needed me heah, even if he didn't realize it. And didn't tell me he was coming," she said simply, shooting a dark look towards him and he shrugged innocently.

"Behind every good man is da woman who does his laundry," that barking voice chuckled and Camelot craned her head to grin at the familiar face. He glided towards us without being asked and his strong arms wrapped around Camelot, then Ranger- men did not get arms like that from an easy life.

"Hawk, Brooklyn's old leadah," Jack kept me informed and I could not help but roll my eyes- was the thing back then to name every newsie after an animal? Or at least every newsie leader? Hawk's sharp golden green eyes found mine and he quirked an eyebrow. I did not like that, like he could read my mind. I see lying would be difficult at best with this one.

"Dey've stopped trying," he addressed me curtly, a smile curling his lip at my eyes popping open. The shiver than ran through my spine was a side effect. "Ain't dat right, Camelot?"

"Can't say we don't try," she shrugged, watching me with a sympathetic smile. "Also can't say we evah got away wid lying ta ya. Don't worry, Ven, he can't _really_ read minds. Jist almost."

"Comes from being leadah. I just got a keener sense den most," he smiled and the three leaders of our little alcove traded knowing looks. Well isn't that just perfect. Can't lie to them, when they are ones who you need to lie to the most.

"Besides Honcho, who else is gonna come?" Jack demanded as Camelot quietly told me 'Midtowns leader'.

"They're scared shitless ta, Jack," Wolf sighed, keeping his voice away from a growl but the frustration was beneath careless words. "Genghis and dem keep threatening. Join sides wid dem or die. I don't think coming heah and plotting against him qualifies as joining sides."

"Cowards," Hawk spat out.

"Maybe," Jack nodded thoughtfully. "But right now it's good he don't know who's on his side. It'll make him more careful."

"Wadever ya say Jack, da throne is holding yer holy ass now," Wolf grinned wolfishly.

"Yeah, it suits me bettah den you," Jack jested, another display of their manliness. Nope, it never got old as they puffed out their chests.

"Not when you'se da one wid da war on yer hands," Wolf retorted seriously, grounding Jack back to that thing called reality and the cowboy's expression darkened. Jack not getting angry at that was just a sign of how much he revered and looked up to Wolf, probably one of the few who had raised him right. Softly Wolf said, "Jack, you know dis mess ain't yer fault. You just got da burden of figuring wad ta do wid it."

He shook his head like the ten year old boy he once must have been, and mumbled, "Some of it is. And I'd be trying to do dat right now if any of da oddah bums would show dere scared faces heah."

"Well Honcho's in da bunkroom, seeing Hornet again, ya know he always liked dat liddle one," Wolf ticked off, ignoring Jack's bitter mutter of 'supposed to be sleeping, dey never listen'. "And da rest are cowards. So wad are ya gonna do bout it right heah, right now? Sit and sulk?"

"No," Jack shot back angrily. "But I was trying ta get a union going but da rest ain't showing."

"So wad are we doing heah?"

"You know," he said darkly and Wolf shrugged, casting a worried look in Camelot's direction whose eyes were closed, seemingly at peace even if awake. I had the distinct impression I would not find what those glances were about tonight, and Jack would go back on his word of letting us stay in here. Frustrated, I remembered not so long ago when Caleb must have been feeling the same thing every night when we tucked him tight away hours before we ourselves slept.

"Wad did da note actually say, Jack? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, curiosity killed da cat," I muttered, gesturing for them to look beyond all that and see me as their equal, an equal naïve to the danger that lay about her. To the inhabitants of that note. I expected him to tell me to go to hell, to send me out for being too pushy, but not for him to reach into his pocket and emerge with a crumpled up piece of parchment.

"I knew your mother well. She was fortunate not to see her son fall. Your little boys and girls will sleep safe and sound, but this time tomorrow the game of cat and mouse will begin a new round. You know what I want and I know what you won't give. Your refusal to make sacrifices is what makes you weak and why you don't have long to live. And in the end, why I will win."

"Good note. Not too long, easy to remember," I said, my mouth dry but my attempt to make things light and good again was only half hearted. My legs felt weak, and I was lucky I was sitting down, and the bunkroom had downed to silence. "Not da best rhymes, but he can woik at it."

"Yeah," Jack agreed and pushed it deeper inside his pocket. "And next time when I tell ya you don't wanna know something listen ta me."

"Don't say there will be a next time," Hawk snapped furiously and Jack's smile was sad and forlorn.

"You know it'll never end."

"If we get rid a Genghis and Swigs," his voice broke and he turned towards Camelot and Spot, both frozen, both drenched in a pain none of us could touch upon. Quietly he finished, "Den we might have a chance."

"We got no chance if it's just us."

"You got Midtown," a quiet voice piped up and I just noticed the figure lingering in the doorway, arms crossed, weak voice obviously hearing more than he needed to. Honcho had returned; I had seen the Midtown leader before, on some business of Micah's. I recognized his dark brown eyes and curly brown locks, his average height, and nothing remarkable about him whatsoever- which made him such a great leader. He appeared so normal, but what lay beneath the skin was an enemy you never wanted, and a brother you always dreamed of. He nodded politely towards me, before looking towards Jack to see if his conciliation did any good.

"Thanks Honcho," Jack grinned, forgetting the spit-shake and the embrace was tight, his gratitude floating in the smaller boy.

But now I was reminded and struggling to remain unsuspicious I nonchalantly asked, "Wad about Micah? He isn't a coward, he should have come."

"Micah ain't a real borough or a real gang," Wolf reminded me but Jack cut over him.

"Dat ain't why. Micah already pledged his allegiance. He's on our side. Dere ain't no sense in him coming tonight."

Disappointed he was not coming, but relieved he was on our side, and embarrassed that for a slight second I had thought differently, I sighed and let my worries evaporate into the air. I was tired, and aggravated Jack had been such a big deal about nothing, had kept me up when all I wanted was to lie down and sleep. I could not help feeling animosity towards him when it was not his fault nobody showed up; but I still didn't see how I could be of any involvement in it anyway.

"Let dem get outta heah den," Spot suggested and I quirked an eyebrow as he met my eyes from across the room, and for that brief moment I thought we had reached an understanding. Then I looked to where Camelot was nearly falling asleep at his feet and knew he now just had an excuse to get his way and have her out of here.

"We can still figure something out," Mush protested but Jack silenced him with a look.

"Venice, Cammie, ya two don't need ta heah none of dis. Go get some sleep," Jack said quietly, stepping away from the doorway and leaving it for our own tango out. I didn't hesitate to stand up but I knew Camelot's protest was coming. "Not anuddah woid Camelot. Dat was an ordah."

Grumbling about the injustice of it all she stomped towards me and together we existed the room, and fell into the dark shadows of the hallway where feet away we could feel the whispers of the bunkroom. I knew we were not alone, and the light shot out in rays around a silhouetted Spot as he leaned against the door, and my heart sped up. Damn him, he knew how to pull those sexy moves, with his arm leaning up and his hair tousled. He was dangerously close.

"You think you're too good fer me?" he whispered to my ear and I heard Camelot stiffen, but could only concentrate on my heartbeat, and my memory of refusing his seat and his hand.

"No," I whispered into his ear, leaning on the tips of my toes. I let my lips seductively whisper against him. "No, but I won't be the one used. Not this time."

Sharply he turned towards me and it just about broke my heart to see the pain, confusion, and betrayal displayed there for only me to see before they became as hard and emotionless as they ever were. I settled back to the floor and tossed my long locks over my hair, flouncing away, and made sure that my walk was superb. I did not look at him again as I heard Camelot mumble a quick apology and hurry after me, on my heels as I forcefully swung the bunkroom door open and as the light slunk in the whispers became silent. I did not pay them any mind as hell felt my fury and I stormed across the bunkroom, cursing silently whenever I stubbed my toe, shouting at them for being such messy pigs.

"Venice?" Specs asked tentatively and I swung around to face him but could not see in this light.

"Goodnight," I snapped, swinging my door open and slamming it closed for desired effect. That effect was ruined a moment later as Camelot came huffing in.

"Spot told me ta give ya dis," she said, carefully training her voice to keep everything neutral between us and I only glanced down as she threw the boot beside me. I had hardly even realized it had still been stuck in the window. "We can probably heah wad dey are saying if we slip out da window and crawl to da window by da spare room. Its hard ta get round dis batch of loose tiles, though."

"I see ya tried it before," I smirked, desperate for a change of subject, anything to get my mind off her low life brother.

"Heah and dere," she shrugged innocently, like we were discussing the weather. "I'se been a goil me whole life, I think, and its hard ta be a newsie and a goil at da same time."

"Amen to dat," I snorted, flopping down upon my mattress, hoping she would not bother me more about it because I refused to be the 'good girl' and stay put if she pressed me. And I really did not feel like raising hell tonight. Especially with Spot watching.

Her smile danced beyond my reach as she tied the bow on her white smock, my fingers slipping through the knots until I could feel mother behind me tying them together, whispering a prayer of guidance as Eloise pushed the door open, allowing the scent of baking bread to breeze into the summer air. Wincing, she skipped back to obsessively straighten a messy picture Gina had just drawn and was now pasted to the wall as I held the door open, glaring impatiently. Nodding, triumphant over that picture, I ran out the door, feeling the warm rocks beneath my bare feet. It was the summer, and there was no use wearing our soles thin when we are better off wearing nothing but the skin on our feet.

"I'se can get ta da theater fastah," Eloise taunted, dancing in front of me and just out of my reach, keeping her hair away from yanking distance.

"Dats cause yer tallah. You can go quicker," I argued, my voice small and innocent.

"Nah, dats cause I'se bettah," she challenged and that dangerous mischievous look matched in our eyes as I took off, feeling the dirt kick beneath our feet. Screaming in delight we ran down the street, ducking between busy goers and around venders who didn't speak much English, down street after street. I had no fear of getting lost; I had been down them too many times to get to the theater.

"I'se winning," she tossed out behind her but she was only a few steps ahead, rounding the last corner, and I summoned my last burst of speed to catch up to her. Screeching, she rounded the corner and I after her.

"Eloise?" I called out, looking round me at the empty street, the sun high in the sky and beating upon a sunburned neck. Grumbling, I took a few more steps, marveling at her speed. "Fine, you'se bettah at running."

I listened hard, then harder, finally spinning around to see if I had actually passed her. "Dis way," she finally giggled and my immaculate fist balled in temper as I turned to the building we had just passed, making for the doorway.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I cursed as I drew closer, seeing her blue dress just round inside the door. Groaning I stayed staring at the doorway, staring at the blank wood. I took a step back as the hinges creaked and groaned, as the bare street lined itself with broken bottles. Backing closer to the doorway as the sun blew out and darkness submerged me in its bittersweet embrace. "Eloise, weah da hell are you!"

"Heah. I'm heah." It was not her voice- masculine, quiet, threatening.

"No your not," I said stubbornly, taking a quick step towards the voice, determined to prove it wrong. Something caught my tiny foot and I looked down at an ivory nightgown, smaller than my arm. At the slowly opening doorway, the nightgown lay like a bright beacon- the lines of red slowly, slowly, ever so slowly spread across it. So finely, they were the veins of a rose. They seeped out, the nightgown hooking on my foot, never letting go.

"Get off, get off, dammit, get off," I whined, shaking my foot, feeling the warmth of the liquid against my bare feet. Whimpering I kicked at it, seeing nothing, hearing something crying in the distant as the blood flowed quicker and spread wider.

"Get off!" I shrieked, shaking my foot, slamming my hands against the doorway and scraping my feet viciously on the ground, feeling the skin tear. Tears stung my eyes as I screeched, "Get off," hysterical, my throat burning and blocking as I gasped for air, staring at the tiny nightdress.

"Get off!" I screamed, my voice tearing at my throat and it burned too as hysterical I shook, feeling cold arms cover my own, pulling me away. That blasted nightgown stuck hard. Struggling I shrieked again, "Get off!"

"Venice. Lani. Lisolette. Wadevah da hell yer fucking name is, stop it, stop, wake up," a voice screamed right back and my stinging eyes flew open. The darkness choked me and I longed for the golden orb that shed its warmth, and shaking I looked down at my foot, still feeling that cooling liquid, still feeling that nightgown. Nothing was there. Nothing.

Terrified I looked back up at that face, my heart hammering, my breathing labored, finding not Eloise, not the darkness, but a pair of panicked blue eyes. Sobbing I pushed myself away from him, back against the brick wall and looked desperately for a way out of here but he grabbed my forearms, shaking me, tossing my tangles of hair. Shaking my head the tears burned as I whimpered, "No, no, no."

"Lisolette," Spot whispered against my ear, pulling me to the ground, brushing my hair back with his hand as I buried my face into his shoulder and let exhausted tears flow. I was too tired to wail anymore, too tired to scream, and let them flow tired and weak as his arms encircled me.

"Why aren't we in da bunkroom?" I demanded, pulling my head away before the tears had stopped- I was well aware of my nightmare, all too aware.

"I should ask you dat," he said sternly before he shook his head and gestured helplessly. "I saw ya leaving da lodging house. I was gonna wake Jack or one of da oddah boys but I didn't wanna loose sight of you. You were sleep walking."

"Why?"

Something made him smile before he caught his snickering breath and replied, "Because someone was holding an apple pie in front of yer nose. I dunno why, kid, dats just da way it was."

"Oh," I replied, again making him smile. Before his eyes fell into concern and he gestured to the building behind us.

"You'se was trying ta get in heah."

I nodded, snapping, "I don't need you to remind me, Conlon," before I stood and wandered towards the doorway. I let my hands trace over its rough wood, feeling its splinters, feeling nothing beneath my feet but rocky road. My hands and eyes fell to the wooden board across the door. "Wads dis?"

"Hell if I know," he shrugged, pulling me away from it but I only moved back. My fingers lingered on the heavy wood, pulling slightly. It splintered at the edges.

"Spot, help me move it," I whispered, yanking at it and it never budged.

"No."

"Spot…"

"No," he replied firmly, pulling my hands away. "If something's boarded up ya don't go in dere. I don't know how naïve ya is, Ven, but I hoid ya lived on dese streets and you should know bettah by now."

"Da building would be boarded up if it's gonna fall down on me head, Spot."

"I said no! Ain't ya listening or are ya dat thick?" he growled, pulling me away from it and not letting me go, letting me struggle, his fingers only digging tighter, one at my waist and one on my arm. "We don't know who, or wad, is in dere."

"I have to get in, Spot," I pleaded, feeling hysteria rush my blood. He shook his head. "No, no, no, I have to, please."

"I don't know wads been happening in yer dreams lately but ya ain't going in dere."

"Just let me go, please! Act like ya nevah even followed me."

"Ya know I can't do dat."

"Well why da hell not?" I screamed, shoving him in the chest. His nostrils flared and his eyes hardened, his fingers hardening on my wrist and my back slammed against the brick building. My head rang as he leaned above me, my hands pinned against his own on both sides of my head. His lips were very close, and my heart was racing, but it wasn't lust. It was fear.

"Don't fucking question me," he growled dangerously low, close to my ear and I felt the part of me that still felt freeze as I pushed him slightly back.

"Den don't tell me wad ta do," I snapped, moving a few steps away. While he was here I'd never get the god damn door open. His hand slid around my waist. "Conlon…"

"Don't question it," he whispered against my ear, pulling me away.

A/N- Well I'm really not too happy with that chapter but hopefully you'll all enjoy it. Sorry its been almost a month, school's just been one thing after another.

Shoutout's

Morbidlyartistic- Yup, Venice is beginning to train Spot. Hopefully the next chapter will be quicker, I've been so busy this month, and never really liked how it turned out. More Swigs creepiness in the future. Thank you so, so, so much for reading this story, even more for enjoying it. Keep carrying the banner!

Emba- Ah, busy I understand, it took me forever to update this. I'm glad you like the Spot/ Venice interaction cause there'll be plenty more of it. I'm glad your sticking with this story, I really appreciate you taking the time to read and review. Thank you so much again! Keep CTB.

Scratch O'Brien

Haha, there's still plenty more in this ole story. Oops, I keep forgetting to read your story, I'm gonna do that now. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.


	21. Chapter 21: over and over

The cigarette smoke shone brighter than our labored breaths in this cold November air. It wafted by and my tearing eyes refused a scent I should be immune to while things I didn't even know I had panged and clenched; you never realize you're addicted until you suffer its withdrawal. Somehow it was not as terrifying as it should be, the dependence upon something so unhealthy, for the boys had been smoking them probably years before I had. I did not dare ask for one, especially to take it from behind his ear and take a drag. With his temper and foul mood he'd probably slap me. It wasn't as if my fear immobilized me- I wouldn't let it- but right now I had no reason or desire to instigate trouble. It took concentration enough to keep pace with his long purposeful strides and I did not need his flashing blue eyes evoking rage and fear, lust and spite, any emotion that would distract me from being on my guard tonight. Yet this silence (I had lost track of time) was wearisome.

"Three," I counted softly. He turned to look at me with the briefest annoyance and the longest curiosity. I gestured to the side and soberly explained, "Prostitutes. I've been countin."

"Jesus Venice," he grumbled, taking a long greedy drag off his cigarette. I waited for the usual insult, the usual comparison, but it never came. Instead he glanced me over and said, "At least you'se dressed decent...wid yer attitude nobody would be able to tell da difference."

"Thanks honey, I'se glad yer ego got its feedin," I sighed. You never know how much you'll miss something until its gone- silence. "How long we been walking? Any idea weah we'se goin?"

"Twenty minutes. Yes."

"And weah might dat be?"

His answer was the briefest of warning flickers before it was gone and he stared straight ahead, so the answer would never come and I was left to counting the prostitutes and pubs, and hoping good things happen in bad towns. This area wasn't a place we'd only get dirty looks, especially at night at god knows what hour. If I had come on my own Jack probably would have soaked me (somehow the newsies always found everything out), but for now I was on Spots terms and he'd be suffering the blunt of their rage.

"Wad you'se dream of?"

I stared straight ahead, giving him the briefest of warning looks, a mimicry of him and stonily he stared at me, refusing to acknowledge his power only got him so far. I felt him staring even when I looked away. He took the steps that separated us and whispered in my ear, "Answer me."

His breath was short and dangerous, a hiss growling from an infuriated wild cat as his pack disobeyed him, the snap of his jowls warm against my numb ear. I felt him behind me and my boots clopped faster and their pattern became erratic. I felt him watching me, dominantly waiting for my submissive tremble. His hand enclosed around my small wrist, the grip tightening until his fingers would leave their blueprint in my skin and the breath leaked in a hiss scalding hot through my clenched teeth. He was stepping on my heels and just as close he commanded, "Venice, I asked you a question and I expect an answer."

With him so close my heart raced and I was sure he could feel my quickened pulse. I bit it back and snapped, "Go find someone who gives a damn."

His hand tightened, dragging me towards a brick building and a fearful corner but the strings were snapping and I was stretched too thin, rocking precariously close to the edge. My hand shoved him back. Shocked, he stared and waited as I lifted a threatening finger, poking him hard in the chest. "Leave it da fuck alone, Conlon, it ain't yer god damn place. I think yer forgetting a beast in a corner goes wild. Don't." I was too close to my dream, too close to breaking point. I felt tears burn my eyes bright in the land of the lowlifes.

"I know someone who can treat ya right goily," a husky voice bluntly interrupted, uninvited and too close, the cheap alcohol smell absent when it would excuse him a little. "He'll take good care of you'se."

I took a step back, knowing the gaslights of the pub behind us were illuminating my scarlet cheeks and for once I prayed he saw them clearly, and from that chuckle I knew he had- only he did not know humility. The dream too close, the words too raw, the reality too intoxicating I did not move or flinch when he ran large calloused hands through my straight hair, mouthing 'soft', while I mouthed nothing. His lips fell into 'o' and I glanced away from his cringing hard face and into a pair of burning blue eyes, his own fingers trembling in deep rage.

"She didn't want you'se," he gulped bravely when Spots hands curled around his throat. I watched his jugular vein throb wildly like a caged animal. "Let her be, boy, da liddle lady don't want none of you'se."

"And ya think she wants all of you?" Spot snapped, the words leaking harsh and cruel, biting beneath my skin, snapping him in two. Reacting to his anger his hand clenched tighter, the mans hands pressed too hard against the wall for use.

"Nah, not me, me boss and any of his paying friends. Ya bettah get away, dis ain't yer place, and it's me territory and anyone who wandahs in is mine fer da taking."

"That you're mistaken on," he growled. "She's mine…"

"Hell no," I spat out, a reflex and his glare could break bones, stealing my breath away, stealing my voice.

"You hoid her. Uncle Edgar will be pleased."

I shook my head silently, back and forth, back and forth, knowing that and nothing more. He watched me submissively shake my head, knowing that he had won. His smile fell as Spots hand shot out, cutting him across the face before Spot's shout of rage and pain shook the window, and shook me. The silver blade glinted in the moonlight, the red pooling from his arm.

It was the look in his eyes and the blood on the floor that made me take a lunge for the switchblade, missing it and the man effortlessly shoved me off balance and before I hit the floor Spot had barreled into the man, knocking him to the ground. His fist worked his way around as they struggled, the fight a delicate and elegant sequence of practiced framework and instinctive moves, raw to the bone. Stumbling to their feet, Spot had his switchblade in his hand, pressed against his adversary's neck. "Look around you. You've got plenty o customers. You won't miss her," he growled low and severe and as his blue eyes flashed and tan skin flared, his golden hair, split ends and all, billowed around him to frame him like some mighty warrior from stories long forgotten and often retold, sent from the heavens. Then I knew how he controlled some of the wildest boys, how he had grown men six feet tall cower at his epitome. The mans head drooped, and it was obvious who had won.

He backed away and into the darkness, lurking, waiting for more willing prey.

Spot towered over me, disappointment in his eyes, a frown creasing his perfect face. Despite all his lectures and disapproving stares, I knew he was ashamed of me, ashamed that I had not defended myself, did not let a hardened grafter gape at how improper I could be. On these streets weakness was a sin and a virtue, and to live up to those feminine virtues was a disgrace to any newsies eyes. As a newsie I had done him wrong, but as somebody human, somebody female, a glitter of…pride?...lingered brightly in his eyes.

His hand reached out towards me and he hauled me to my feet, not waiting for me to object and he brushed me over, wiping the dirt from my side before I gently pushed him away. His eyes hardened and narrowed as he found a slight scratch, and slight blood, on my elbow where I had hit the ground. That only reminded me of the sharp throb.

"Look at yer arm," I groaned, worriedly following the blood seep around his arm. He glanced at it with unconcern.

"It doesn't mattah," he replied gently as he looked me over once again. "Are you alright?"

I knew his concern did not pertain to the tiniest of scratches. "Yes. Happens every day, right?"

"Right." He knew I was putting on a brave face as he watched me tremble. "It hoit?"

"Just a scratch. We need ta get something on it."

"Just a scratch," he smirked, pulling his arm away from my attention and reach. I tittered and shook my head and like a little boy whose mother had dragged him inside after he had fallen and wanted to rejoin his friends he whined, "It ain't deep, Ven. Look, just a scratch. Just bleeding like a bitch. It stopped already."

"We need to go back to the lodging house," I sighed, praying this little interruption had distracted him. Spot never seemed to let anything get in his way.

"No," he said firmly. "It's just round da corner."

Tossing an authorative arm around my shaking shoulders he pulled me along and his body heat was too much to deny in this frigid air. I would not admit that it was anything more than his body heat, not the allure of Spot Conlon, not how safe I felt with his arm encircled around my burdened shoulders. "I'se surprised dat ya acted like a woman."

"So am I," I grumbled, not liking where this conversation was going and thankfully (for once) he let it go. Our hearts synchronized and I felt the rhythm beneath my feet, and something else as it rolled away.

"Watch yer step," he cautioned, gripping my elbow and pulling me back a little as pebbles appeared and disappeared as they rolled from beneath my feet and into their own oblivion. Before I could get the question out of my mouth he turned around with a smarmy little smirk, forcing me to a complete stop. "Do you want ta go back to da lodging house?"

I did not dare open my mouth for I feared whatever answer I would give, and I was unwilling to fall into any of his deceiving webs; the question was a trick, and I knew whatever answer I gave it would have unsavory results. Expectantly I stared at him, impatient in my inquiry and mischief lit up his face, softening it. "Can you trust me?"

"Wad are ya playing at, Spot?" Nerves were beginning to tingle as his bright eyes were closed and secretive, playing a guessing game I never wanted to play.

"No games," he swore, holding his hand out to show this was no foolery and I peered closely at him, expecting to see 'guilty' or his agenda stamped in black ink across his forehead. He grinned broadly and prodded, "Unless ya wanna play."

"No," I said coldly and his smile only dropped a little.

"Ya promise ya won't tell anyone?"

"Anyone wad?"

"Wad I'm bout ta show ya."

"And wad might dat be?"

"Casa de la Spot," he smirked, crossing his arms and letting that silky hair fall into his eyes, blowing it impatiently away. He held a waiting hand out and I looked between his secretive, mischievous eyes and that softly calloused hand, my gaze unable to choose between them, unwilling to miss anything, not even the slightest movement. Sighing I gave my hand to his and it closed tightly around it, drawing me closer and his other hand wrapped around my waist as he whispered softly into my ear, "Be careful."

I did not need to be when he led in this darkness so very complete, my feet only stepping where he guided them and I rested my head against his sure shoulders, resting my eyes- it was no use when I could not see anyway. I felt the rocks beneath my bare feet, and I knew we were no longer on the main road, but I did not feel like I was in any immediate danger. I knew he was no crazed killer and I knew he would not purposefully hurt me- physically. I just did not trust myself enough to know that I would not come out of this undamaged, much less better for the wear.

"Don't you dare close yer eyes," he said softly, brushing a hand down my closed eyelids and the familiar sensation of shivers and swirling lust rushed within me. I tried to ignore it as his hand rested against the curve of my hip and I leaned my head back further, terrified to open my eyes, so unsure of what I'd find. I did not want the magic of this moment and his touch to be ruined by the most savage of places.

Breathing deeply my eyelashes tickled my freckles as they fluttered open, and slowly my eyes adjusted to the darkness, taking in shape after shape, every detail, unable to process it all. I felt the soft rock beneath my feet, the chill of the damp around us, the spray of the river as its salty mist danced around my face, creating a circulation of the barest touches of humanity. In awe I saw the slight fog sprouting at perfect intervals, felt the dull pulse of the tides. My feet moved as they saw the walls that barricaded us on three sides and my fingers traced their intricate pattern, their rubbed raw ends soft against the dark rock. My head spun seeing the points of rock jutting from every which way, beautiful daggers.

"It's not…" I said slowly, walking back towards him, his face alight with a true smile, one that was all mine and for my awe and happiness, not his usual smirk.

"Real? Yeah doll, it is," he said kindly. "Almost nobody knows it exists."

"Weah are we?"

"Weah our imagination runs wild and everything that can't be true is," he said seriously, smiling at my bemused smirk. The breath was slow but coming steadily back to me. "We'se at a branch of da East Rivah."

"How do you know…?"

"Esmeralda," he admitted with a slow contagious grin and I could not help but smile too at the brotherly affection he regarded his sister with. "When she was a tot she wandered away from me and me ma and down heah. Just sat down giggling. It used ta be only me and her who knew of dis, now you do too."

"Why?"

"You ask too many questions. Can't ya evah be happy wid wad is, and forget da why's?"

I did not respond and walked instead towards where the river thread its way through the cave and stood at the very edge of water I did not know how deep. Its shimmering surface lapped at my bare feet- it was freezing, but I did not care. The moon and the stars glittered like diamonds on its rippling velvety surface and in its reflection I could see Spot come up behind me. He seemed to fit so perfectly behind me, his arms encircled around my waist and resting on my head, rocking with the beat of the river.

I pulled away and turned around, moving in to dance, placing his hands just where they should be and the bemusement turned to surprise as I began swaying. "Just wad in gawds name is ya doing?"

"Dancing," I replied simply.

"I can see dat," he said, astonished. "And am I supposed ta be dancing too?"

"Of course," I retorted, rolling my eyes and he did not attempt to push away, but he did not make even a failing attempt to sway with me.

"I don't dance, Venice."

"You do now."

"Demanding liddle goil, aren't ya?"

"Yes," I replied quietly. "Now shut up and dance wid me."

"We don't have any music."

"Ya always have ta tawk, Spot. Ya can nevah be happy wid wad is. Just stop thinking," I murmured into his chest as slowly he began swaying with me, dancing to the beat of our hearts. Dancing to the steady pulse of the river bend. We swayed and flowed to the music beneath our feet, in nature, and in our hearts and minds, not thinking. I think I forgot how to breathe. I remembered my realization that my infatuation with him was more than just that, but it did not matter, it did not matter what it was. It just mattered that it was.

Every emotion I longed to ignore came rushing to the surface in a heated race, boiling over and ending where my fingertips felt his warm skin. I knew he wanted to, but every kiss we took another part of us broke.

"Don't put it dere," I instructed softly, not bothering to open my eyes because I knew where his foot had fallen, knew his steps weren't creative but just obnoxiously wrong, even where there was nothing to get right. Stubbornly I felt him put his foot there again and I sighed; it's not even worth the attempt to get his attention. Typical male. His foot stepped further, I felt it skid along, curling behind my ankle and just before he lifted it my eyes sprang open in a pleading attempt, but he was too caught up in the moment, eyes watching me and too late realizing what he had done. Recognition lit up his face as I started falling back, grabbing at the air, snatching a fistful of his shirt and dragging him with me.

The initial plunge was sharper than the coldest blades and it slapped me in the back, sticking to my skin. Then it became numb and I was pulled under, tangled in my hair and in the darkness of the river, seeing nothing, not even the moon and stars. Spiraling and tumbling I swirled, disoriented, grabbing for everything and anything, screaming silently. The water filled my mouth as I screamed, stopping it, choking me, surging down my throat and its rawness burned. Desperately I paddled up but I was no longer sure which way that was, where I was, feeling nothing but the pressing blanket of impending doom, feeling nothing but its chill. A silent watery grave.

Tears would be forming if water was not pooling into my eyes as I attempted to breathe without oxygen and without water. Head spinning I felt heavy. Blinking it was grown dark, darker. My blouse hooked upon something, tearing, stretching and gasping I fought for freedom. If I had hooked myself upon debris or part of the cliff nothing, not even the surface, could save me. I kicked and punched, grabbing a fistful of something, feeling myself moving.

Yelping I broke the surface, my voice sounding strange and deranged in my ears, a wild thing being tortured. Blinking the water out of my eyes I felt sand beneath my feet and in this dark light Spot was framed. He was panting, water dripping everywhere, his hair plastered to his forehead. He rubbed at his arm, his bright red arm and I winced; he had been what I was hooked on. He had grabbed me and tugged me up.

"Do ya even know how ta swim?" he wondered and gasping for breath I could only shake my head. Something I was now regretting. "Thank gawd ya don't live in Brooklyn."

"Ya dragged me in," I accused.

He pointed out, "I dragged ya out too."

"Fine, you're forgiven," I stubbornly argued and his eyebrows rose. The smile was too true to hide, lighting me as I grinned at him and he finally smiled. In all honesty it was a terrifying adventure, one I did not want to repeat, but an adventure nonetheless.

"You look good wet," he complimented and self-consciously I crossed my arms over my chest and light shirt, blushing darkly and inhumanely he snickered. I wish the water came past my hips. He brushed my wet hair back.

"You look like a drenched rat," I muttered, and his snickering abruptly stopped. His fake hurt look was perfectly executed and proudly I grinned, but suddenly he lunged at me, tackling me back and pulling me under. I knew to hold my breath before we resurfaced a tangle of limbs as laughing we splashed and spun. Somehow I ended up cradled in his embrace, feeling the drip drop drip of the water stuck in his hair. His chill warmed my own.

His smoldering eyes incinerated me and intoxicated me like the strongest whiskey, compelling me to wrap my arms around his neck, standing on tip toes to look into his soulful eyes. I knew his eyes mirrored mine, hurt and confused, euphoric and haunted, filled with me as I was filled with him. They softened, staring down at me, resisting a battle I was loosing. From the way his eyes flicked between mine and my lips I knew he wanted to kiss me, and why he did not I couldn't imagine. Hurt and confused I looked up, pitiful, lower lip purposefully trembling and sighing he rested his head against mine, whispering my name over and over.

Over and over I knew I was in love with him. Over and over we fought and screamed, cried and kissed- now I did not know why we did not. I was free falling through a safety net I thought would never move. Over and over I fought myself and what I wanted, knowing it was not best for me, but I had never been really fighting. I had always known in the end our hearts would entwine. The question is would we let them. Over and over I fought this loosing battle.

I knew he was just as confused, just as lost as I was, and still could blame him. Could ignore my pain and capacity for it, to accuse him of ruining this when I knew if given the opportunity (right now) I would run. Knowing all of this I still stared up into his eyes, pleading.

"Venice," he said seriously, his voice drenched in a musical pain, so soft, so hard, and everything in-between. He turned away and my arms fell limply to my side, and crossing over my chest, hugging me tight like that could protect me. I wanted to listen but there was some noise, some barbaric chant that I could not ignore. Something in the corner of my eye caught my attention, some glitter and glimmer, and I almost felt him twitch in time with it and look up curiously as well.

Questioningly I stared up at him and hoarsely he said, "Hell if I know."

"Wanna fine out?" Pleadingly he looked at me and I knew my suggestion was just another way of running. Yet he was too strong and too proud to admit it stung.

He did not wait for me and dragged himself out of the water, ringing out his clothes, smoothing out his hair. The water had washed the blood on his arm away where only a small incision remained, and silently I watched him. He felt me but did not look until he was done, and walked to the waters edge, holding a hand out to me. The look in his eyes, that unexplainable look, made me take it and he helped me out of the water. I wrung myself so I was not drip-drenched, just soaked and chilled to the bone.

When I looked back up at him his eyes were narrow like that could help him discover the mysteries of what lay above, what was calling us whether it meant to or not. I hoped it did not. He was tense, as alert and predatory as he ever was. "I want you to stay heah."

"No," I protested and squarely met his scowl. "Ya think its safe for a teenage goil ta be heah alone?"

"Touché," he mumbled before taking my hand in his and pulling me behind him, carefully shielding me from any harm, or trying to. It is the thought that counts, except in last breaths and short goodbyes. The darkness grew thicker, or maybe it was my eyes fighting to blind me, heart beating wildly and paranoid mind sending too many warnings to every other organ. Quietly we stepped below the lower parts of the cave, around the river, and silently over the rocks that scraped and scratched my bare feet.

"Nodins out heah," I whispered and I was not sure if had heard me or had deliberately chosen not to. Looking around, out of the cave, nothing was there as we fell back onto the dirt road, trees lining our vision with the road a few yards away. He put a finger to his lips, listening hard; he tensed and looked around, but I heard nothing but our hearts beat.

"Nice night," a light musical voice lilted through the trees and simultaneously we spun around, defensive and he put a hand in front of me like that would shield me. Narrowing my eyes I saw an illuminated figure move from out behind the trees, like an apparition, pale golden locks billowing out behind him. They curled around his pale face, and his pale, pale eyes- he was lit from within. He was a beacon, a lantern, when there was nothing but darkness.

"It was," Spot said carefully, the venom spitting out but I knew how controlled he was being, how desperately he already wanted to lash out. I had seen him react from much less instigation; he was cool, controlled, and regal as he stood before me in an illusion surrounded by scum. He was the boy revered by many, feared by more, and respected by all.

"I see you won't be distracted by small-talk," he observed casually, a smile lighting his face even more until he appeared almost angelic. "I respect that. But in the end what is respect really but the acknowledgement of an adversary?"

"To the small-minded," I coldly replied and his pale eyes gazed at me, not looking me up and down but deeply into my face, into my eyes. The involuntary chill that ran up my spine had nothing to do with the November air, and I was not prepared for my stomach plummeting towards feelings I had tried to avoid, to ignore, to fight, that ended up getting the best of me. Defensively I drew closer to Spot, praying he did not notice the effect this stranger had on me. The young man did not smile, did not seem to acknowledge it all but to watch me absent of all emotion.

Spot smiled gratefully at me, the glitter of respect at my non feminine wiles reappearing before he continued, "Respect is everything. Esteem, fear, awe, obedience. Its appreciation, admiration, treating oddahs how you'se want ta be treated."

"Perhaps," he said softly, still watching me. My emotions were still shattered, still in turmoil.

"I ain't heah ta get in a philosophical debate, Gabriel," Spot retorted defensively and from his tenseness and louder voice I knew he did not like the way he had been watching me.

"No, neither am I. I told you that our business was not done, Spot Conlon, and never will be done until you give me what I want."

"You ask too high of a price," Spot growled, protectively keeping me behind him when I attempted to move forward, not understanding, not following. "You have no right ordering me bout."

"No! No, I have every right. More than you will ever know," Gabriel snapped, the first sign of emotion that was not complete calm. Like he was bored. He had begun pacing, back and forth, back and forth, his movements graceful but not like that of a predator or a warrior, but something ethereal, something that was not confined to the usual boundaries of bone and skin. "Have you told her yet how you have wronged me?"

"It ain't important when it ain't you dat I was wronging."

"Wad happened, Spot?" I asked impatiently, knowing that the sooner this was answered the sooner it would be over.

"He won't answer you," Gabriel said kindly, almost sympathetically and I turned a surprised eye towards him and his ever so steady gaze.

"Tell me," I demanded, stepping as close to him as I could without touching because I knew that I might never come back. I knew that if I did not carefully pull on temper, anger, and every wound that has never healed right that I would loose myself, forget my words and my anger, for his smile, for eyes that I knew could lie.

"I killed his bruddah," Spot simply said. My mouth fell open in shock with his casualness and with this horror. He was not letting me in on his pain, blocking me as hard as he could. His eyes were hard, closed, and secretive but somewhere in their swirling depths I knew he was haunted by a memory he wouldn't even speak of.

I choked on my reply longing for answers to all the why's but they would be answered with time, and I should not have to ask them. I stared pointedly before whispering, "I don't understand."

"You shouldn't," he sighed. The strength he showed so proudly was dimming, and despite all his hard words he was just as lost as the rest of us, just as troubled, just as haunted. "He woulda killed me if I hadn't."

"It was a street fight?"

"No," Gabriel hissed and Spot glared harshly at him.

"No," Spot repeated, some of that strength, ice, and fire returning to his voice. He spat out, "No, it wasn't no street fight. Dat sadistic bastard been playing wid me and me newsies fer yeahs. He woulda ruined us all, broken down da powah structure, if he kept at it. He kept fucking us up."

"Especially Ivy," Gabriel's soft voice cut through like the sharpest of blades and Spot's head snapped so fast I heard his neck crack, his violent eyes lost and confused before they hardened into ice. The force behind his glare made me catch my breath and I did not understand how Gabriel did not wither beneath it. But he remained upright, unrelentingly staring; his words were aimed to hurt, to break, to raise inquiries and harm him even more. They were careful and trained, delivering with just enough speed and sharpness without him reacting. "Go on, ask him who Ivy is."

Speechless I turned a questioning eye and an unwilling ear towards an immobile Spot, who remained staring severely at Gabriel, like shining a light on a wild animal. He opened his mouth, licked his lips and got some of the moisture and strength back as he replied strongly, "Me old goil."

"You'se was going steady?" I asked carefully, holding the jealousy at bay and over-analyzing his long lost love, his pining for her.

"She kept his attention," Gabriel replied; for Spot, that was a miracle. "Gorgeous goil, sassy."

"She's da coldest bitch in da woild," Spot said calmly, coolly, power drenching from him with silent warnings. As he said this I could not lie and say it did not make me feel better, for my heart lightened with one less burden, but he was unforgiving, and I did not know how far she had pushed him before he turned on her.

"Was she before Damien fucked her?"

"Yes," he retorted coldly, glaring harshly at Gabriel, forcefully and the confidence he had before drooped a little.

"Why would you stay wid her den? Cause she's good looking?" I wondered.

"Dat ain't yer place ta ask, Venice," he growled and snapped, "How come ya keep having crazy dreams? How come you'se are you? How come I am me? It's just da way it was." He inhaled deeply, slowly, trying to calm himself. "Her beauty drew me in and her cruelty kept me dere. I wanted someone coldah den me right den. Her heart was ice and I wanted ta melt it. Den when I couldn't stand her anymore I didn't want her wid any of da oddah boys, so we ended up dragging it on. Are you happy now?"

"No," I said incredulously, understanding this attack but empathy did not make it better. I knew I was trembling, and not just from the cold of the river. It was everything; it was the effect Gabriel had on me, much like Spot did, it was my mind coming to grips with how stupid I am acting. His attention will never last, his words are smooth and skilled, but whether I had admitted it or not I still believed in the end everything would come into place. I was ignoring my sister's warnings, ignoring my past, and letting him fill what is so empty and dead inside.

I felt Gabriel watching me; I knew he was waiting for me to lash out at Spot with that unnecessary information, and for a crime unforgivable. I spun on my heel to directly face Gabriel, eyes burning and I spat out, "Wad da hell do you want?"

"Revenge," Gabriel said simply, eyeing Spot. "I want power. I want to fulfill my orders and fulfill them well. I never want to be forgotten. I want immortality."

"Don't we all," I spat. "And how is he supposed ta give it to you?"

"He's not," Gabriel said simply. "His sistah could though."

He lunged for him but Gabriel side-stepped him easily, and again as Spot made another grab for him and fell to the ground with a fistful of air. He pulled himself to his own two feet, fury leaking from his pores and voice trembling said, "You leave her alone or I swear you will die. I will kill you, and you will know more of mortality than you ever wanted."

"How could Camelot help you?" I said scornfully, wanting to lunge for him as well.

"Dats between me, her, and Swigs." I stared at him in shock, not understanding how this creature could be playing his cards so mysteriously or so well, not comprehending how it all pieced together. "Everything's connected, Venice. Everything."

"How do you know my name?" I growled but was answered with his unblinking, unnerving stare. "What do you mean?"

"When you know you'll wish you didn't," Gabriel said sadly, pity lining the corners of his eyes and the twitch of his lips. "You're more of a key than even I know."

He was not prepared for Spot's vicious onslaught and the six foot young man tumbled to the ground with Spot on top of him, ripping at his neck, lifting heavy fists and plowing into his back. Gabriel threw him off and the crack was sickening when Spot hit the hard ground, and immobilized I watched as he kicked him in the side, keeping him down and breathless. I hardly saw Spot move as he rose again and attacked, and I could not follow the sequence of moves as equally matched they struggled. Finally they moved away, panting. It was not over- I saw it in their dirty looks.

"I did not come here tonight to fight you, Spot," Gabriel said oh so softly.

"If I was really fighting you'd be dead right now."

"Don't overestimate yourself and underestimate me. That might be your worst mistake."

He did not say anything more and with the next blink of an eye had disappeared just as swiftly as he had come, rounding the trees, an apparition who had found our world too chaotic and worthless. Blankly I stared at Spot furiously panting, regretting my thoughts, regretting everything but appreciation at how quickly he had lunged to my defense. Of course, Spot was possessive of anything that he felt was his.

"I dunno Venice. I just don't know."

**A/N**- feh...tell me what you guys think. please...

**Shoutouts!!!**

Emba- ah, and we can hope someone gets her a tissue for those issues. Yeah, he's getting trained, Mr. Conlon has his good side. Thank you for reviewing and reading this and I really do hope this chapter was good enough.

Morbidlyartistic- how many newsies does it take to get to the center of a mystery, the world may never know. It's great to write this in school, because you can't help laughing when the teacher thinks you're taking notes. Thank you so much for continuing to read and review, I appreciate it so much!

Hattrick- wow I can relate to that, I read stories on here for 3 years before I ever signed up and got the courage to post some of my junk. I'm flattered that you registered here, your review is appreciated more than you will ever know. I wish I could make a great shout out for you to show my appreciation, but I don't really see how I can. It's lovely to know someone appreciates your style. Long reviews are great. Thank you so, so much, and I hope this chapter was not a let down.


	22. Chapter 22: Shakesperean Hopes

The night had ended too fast and the dawn had risen so slow, leaving gloomy dark circles beneath bright eyes, and something that wasn't permanent, but should be taken as it is. This passing sensation of something put into motion, something about to happen; I basked in it.

It took a humble communication of peripheral vision to learn I didn't know them at all. I knew with a peripheral glance this morning I had been missing out, drowning in a pit of Spot and all our mystery's, missing so much more at home, at the lodging house. I felt like I had known the newsies longer than I had, and had taken their acceptance for granted, predicting what was so unpredictable. I did not know the newsies at all. It took a peripheral glance at one of Camelot's flowing papers with her immaculate handwriting, portraying the elegant thoughts circulating above her lovely face. It took a peripheral look this morning at a scar running down Jack's back, a recent scar with a story that everyone else knew. It took Mush's soft singing to hear his Vaudeville voice and a snippet of Specs' conversation to know that he had a twin sister in one of the factories. Now I was ready and willing to become a part of this, open to the newest challenges. And oh so open to watching a Greek God ring his long raven black hair out.

"It's so hot for November," he observed and threw his hair out of his eyes, wrapping an elastic around it to keep it there. I looked down that tan chest until it disappeared into the forbidden, unexposed with gray shorts, and I'm sure Mush felt manlier with a gorgeous male also wearing shorts. I did not mind the weather at all. "If we don't watch out, er, your Snyder will be taking a dip."

"Venice hopes he'll have more on den you do," I countered, grateful for this bright sun and he grinned in agreement, taking a stretched out seat across from us.

"Yer shoit's still damp," Camelot graciously pointed out before he had one arm through the Shakespearean sleeve. He smiled knowingly and set the hardly damp shirt down beside him again. Glaring at my nudge, her cheeks miraculously hardly colored at all as she hissed at me, "well it is". She had to bite her lip to keep from giggling.

"It is getting colder out…" Sparky teased us as he pretended to contemplate the shirt.

"Camelot thinks you'll go swimming latah," she disagreed, tapping his bare foot with hers to keep his attention and once she was sure of his attentive curiosity she smiled flashily and tossed her fiery hair over her shoulder, baring part of her neck. That girl can be more of a flirt than even me. He chuckled quietly and set the shirt down again.

"Venice agrees," I announced, unwilling to loose his affections to this Brooklyn girl.

"Fish wish's you two would stop doing dat," Fish groaned as he waltzed by with the perfect look of annoyance and grumpiness, but it took no effort to see he was jealous of the attention a harbor worker was getting and he was regretting inviting him here at all.

"Camelot thinks Fish should go swimming and forget ta come up fer air," she challenged with a bright smile and he glared through his curly bangs, mumbling something beneath his breath before he slipped into the water, calling for his friends. "Camelot's going to feel really bad if he does drown."

"Venice will only laugh," I sighed with a somber expression that did not last long, before a new chorus of giggles reached a crescendo. "So Sparky, how do ya like Brooklyn?"

"I like it very much," he replied in that rich Ukrainian accent, flashing a winning smile and meeting my eyes completely like so few guys ever did. He glanced at Camelot and then back at me and said, "Very, er, welcoming."

She snorted, hiding behind her hand as she snickered into it. I could only look at her before I burst into high laughter, leaning far into a tower of abandoned crates and hoping that it did not fall. Sparky's deep laugh was in brilliant contrast, a contrast appreciated and fondled over.

"Sparky, ya best hope Spot doesn't come ovah ta see his little sistah acting like dis ovah you. Trust me, den you won't have a chance of staying in Brooklyn. Nevah mind staying, living!" Fish cackled and I stomped on his fingers and with a yelp he fell back into the river.

"Oops," I shrugged as he raised his eyebrows and she patted me on the back. The slightest traces of annoyance were crested in her forehead, for although it had always been a threat Sparky was oblivious of it; I knew her brother's psychotic, though justified, protectiveness had driven away countless attractive males (except one mistake) and I could feel her worry that Sparky's attention would go all to me now.

"Spot is your brother, yes?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes," she replied in annoyance. "He just said so, didn't he?"

I understood perfectly but felt a little pity for Sparky at her defensive attack. A little hopeful that it would push him further away as well but his brilliant green eyes were lingering over Camelot as she stared out at the river, at the boys splashing and fighting. Jealousy threaded its way through my intricate veins and leaked in a toxic mess for she was displayed so perfectly, sitting with one leg dangling over the edge and treading the water so softly, like Michelangelo could paint her as a masterpiece decorating the halls of every nobleman's court. The other leg was raised towards her, the golden tan and the toned shape flowing until bare skin disappeared into her rolled up pants. Her shirt was flattering and form fitting, the green and gold in it reflected in her eyes, the light wind blowing her red hair and the sun dancing on those natural golden highlights. Yes, even a master of disguise could not hide the envy I had when I looked at her now. And I had a feeing in two or three years her beauty now would be plain compared to then.

Her intensely fierce frown softened as somebody familiar paddled towards us and the strongest intoxicated emotion engulfed her as he swam by, diving to toss a misplaced newsies hat in Mush's face to slow him down in their race. Suddenly I felt Sparky beside me, breathing in my ear as quietly as a lullaby and he whispered, "She is in love with him, yes?"

I did not bother the usual act of protesting and innocent inquiries but to turn into his soul wrenching eyes and murmur, "Yes". He smiled softly with those pouting lips and gazed at her with an emotion I could not place, before looking out at Racetrack paddling in the turbulent water.

"You all are very young," he said in that thick accent. I raised my eyes; he could not be a day over twenty-one. "Love is no fickle matter. I believe in her though, I see it in them, see their hearts beating together."

His voice died away as it still rang in my ears, drifting further than I wanted it to, as I wondered, waited. Could a love so strong and passionate circulate like an aura for an empathetic naked eye? Love looked for is a wonder, but unlooked for is better, and can empathy identify between love and lust by a smile, a kiss? Is that what every girl believed they saw when they looked into Spot Conlon's lying face?

Her shriek burst our delicacies and I grabbed for her but it was too late and she toppled into the water with limbs flailing, and all the ruckus only gave birth to a few stares. Worriedly I looked into the water but Sparky was grinning, laughing even. "She will be fine. Look."

I looked. She came up spluttering for air, her laughter clear and ringing like bells as Racetrack came up with her, their arms tangled around each other, dragging up and down. She spat water into his face, ducked out of his reach and swam fast towards Mush as he raced after her.

"I didn't even see him come up."

"Nor did I."

"Den how did ya know he was dere and she was fine?"

"Because if she had fallen in and into harm, he would be there. No matter how far away he was." His soft poetic words hummed in my head, sinking into my heart and etching forever there. There are some impressions that alter your perception, some that change your life and the course of your history, that makes footprints no wave can wash away. Sparky had made his footprints upon me as those haunting words rang through my body, every inch absorbing them. Love came out in an explainable stride that did not cover even an inch of the enigma it was; but it put a face on the untamable beast. I could only hope that someday somebody would save me from falling further as well.

"I don't think you wanna put it on yet," I said and pulled the shirt he was about to tug on away from him, and sat on it. He laughed, clear and loud, and settled back to watch the beauty of Brooklyn in its most glorious days. I was so thankful Camelot had been keen to come here with her brother today and had brought me and a few others along; it was a beautiful memory I would hate to be without. It was an escape for the others when reality haunted their footsteps. Spot was not even here to make it worse; however, I had a feeling he would not keep away long. Whatever kept him away would not last all day.

"Ya enjoying yerself, Ven?" Blink inquired amiably and helped himself to a seat beside me.

"Uh-huh," I giggled like a little schoolgirl and looked at Sparky to drive my point home. For once it was not me blushing as his masculinity gave way for a scarlet color.

"I'm sorry she's torturing ya," Blink said sincerely. "We raised her bettah den dat."

He chuckled and I elbowed Blink in the stomach but the irritating newsboy pinched my cheek. I struggled against his death gripping hold, pinching him in the side and somehow I fell onto the boards beneath as he leaned over me, tangled into a wrestling match. I struggled, my arms trembling as his stronger one's pushed them away and using his vulnerability I kneed him in the stomach. Groaning he rolled off me, clutching himself and vengeful I rolled on top, holding him down and pinching his cheeks back, playfully punching him. He grabbed my arm and I wrestled in his hold, bursting into laughter as it descended into a wrestling/tickling match and a fight for air between our laugher.

"Sorry I'se missing da party," Spots dry voice cut in between our laughter. Panting, I rolled off of Blink and stared up at Spot silhouetted by the sun; his big head blocked it. Blink opened out his arms.

"Come on Spot, I love you too!" he cried, overwhelmed by emotion and I tried to remain serious but ended up squirming with laughter. Kid Blink somehow remained serious as he called out again, "I love you, Spot, come give me a hug!"

I opened my eyes enough to see Spot's expression which tore me into laughter all over again. His annoyed look turned bemused as he watched me roll around on the ground laughing hysterically and he said, "I think I'se missing da punch line."

"You're it!" I snickered, pointing mockingly up at him and Blink pointed too, though now I knew he was poking fun at me.

Determined to keep me laughing Blink jumped up and spread his arms wide, pulling out a piece of lint from his pocket and offering it to Spot like a flower. Surprisingly he joined in on the choke and mimed an affronted look, making his voice go high as he exclaimed, "You cheap bastard!"

Blink doubled over, but I'm not sure if his laughter was more out of its comedy or the surprise that Spot was playing along so well, because I wasn't sure why I was laughing either. Pleased with himself Spot continued, "I slave ovah a hot stove all day and all I get is wads in yer pants…"

He paused to let this sink in before he too was doubled over in laughter, swearing up and down it wasn't what he meant to say. Looking around at the few newsboys who were watching us, I could not help the curiosity at seeing their bemused faces. They did not seem too shocked at seeing their holier than thou leader act like this and again I was reminded how little I knew of everyone; I knew a name, and I knew a face, but put together I was clueless.

Eventually our laughter died away and Kid Blink wandered off at Mush's call for reinforcements in a vicious splash fight between him, Camelot, and Racetrack. I was left on my back, feeling splinters and nails digging into me, staring up at Spot's beautiful face. He extended a hand and without thinking I took it and let him haul me up, let him help brush my back off. Sweat dangled from his brow in this abnormally warm day and his grin was bright, his eyes glittering to see me in a short-sleeved undershirt with a dangerously low cut.

"You look good at da docks."

"I thought I looked good wet?"

"Ya look good anyweah," he flattered but could not keep the mischief away. "Especially wid a low cut and watah."

Seriously I returned, "Do I look like a whore?"

He raised an eyebrow, astonished I had asked, that I myself had enough dignity to wonder. He placed his hands on my hips and drew me closer to him and like I could not help it I moved. Sternly he stared down at me. "How many times do I have ta tell ya I'se da only one allowed ta call you dat? Including you." When I opened my mouth he put a finger over it and breathed, "No, you don't look like a whore. You look like a lady. Anyone who tells ya oddahwise wants ta be you'se or is jealous dat dey ain't wid ya."

My jaw fell open in shock as the implications and meaning of that sunk in and he let them, staring at me before he pulled away. He turned and walked away, greeting another newsboy and beginning conversation. I watched him walk, watched him talk with such ease. Somehow he always left me with my emotions lying at my feet. Shaking my head to clear it I turned only to find Sparky with that look I could not place. I snapped, "Wad?"

"He'll never let you fall," he cryptically replied.

"I doubt it, I'se trip an awful lot."

"No," he returned but did not say more. He rose on his own, picked up the shirt that I had left, and sauntered away, walking with the best of them and entering a conversation far away. Again I shook my head; I would never understand men.

"Venice," Camelot shrieked, kicking her feet wildly for Racetrack had her arms locked behind her and was kicking his feet below him forcefully enough to support them both. I could not tell if the water on her face was from the river or tears of laughter.

Gleefully Mush and Blink were shouting Indian war cries as they swam a circle around the two of them, victorious. They had captured the Brooklyn princess and had Jack's rope to tie her to one of the docks with. Shaking my head I remained a few steps away from the edge and called out remorsefully, "I dunno how ta swim!"

"You're not serious!" Mush shouted like this was a heinous crime and Camelot stopped yelling, Racetrack stopped paddling to stare at me. She yelped as they both went down, Race having forgotten even to wade and they resurfaced, still staring at me, all now supporting themselves but relentlessly staring. I raised my eyebrows and leaned regally against a tower of crates.

"I'm very serious. As serious as they get," I expanded and they traded mortified looks. I couldn't help laughing at how horror stricken they looked. Unconsciously I looked for Spot to see if he was seeing this and sure enough he was watching them from where another boy was talking, though I doubted he was listening. His laughing eyes met mine and he nodded ever so slightly.

"C'mon, we'll teach you," Camelot announced, giving up our third person game for a more interesting one- tossing Venice into the water like a scared cat. They gave up their Indians and cowboys, or enemy knights and princess game and Mush tossed Jack's rope onto the docks as they all paddled towards me. Mush and Blink remained in the water as Camelot and Racetrack hauled themselves out. Slowly but surely I backed away, waving my hands.

"Uh-uh. Uh-uh. Uh-uh. No way," I protested until I reached the edge and Camelot and Racetrack had cornered me, delighted and excited at their new endeavor.

"C'mon Venice. It ain't hard," Camelot encouraged me. "It'll be fun."

"We'll all be dere so you'se won't drown. I promise," Racetrack cooed. I snorted.

"Well dats comforting."

"Ya gotta loin sometime," he retorted and put his hand on the small of my back, leading me towards the other side. Unwillingly I relented and slowly moved with him and Camelot, sending a pleading look towards where Spot and Jack were bemusedly watching.

"Go on," Jack encouraged and I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Don't watch me!" I cried self-consciously to their groans and laughs.

An hour later I found myself carefully treading water, growing more comfortable in the river by the minute. Camelot beamed at me, wading directly in front, underwater holding hands with Racetrack. Determined to get their Indian victory dance Mush and Kid Blink circled me, chanting. If only I had known how to swim _last night_.

"Ya look good wet," Spot repeated as he swam up to us, golden hair glittering in the afternoon sunlight. His chest was submerged but I knew how tan and chiseled it was and could not help secretively blushing.

"I know," I retorted and tossed my hair out of my face.

"Well if yer gonna get all conceited ya look terrible," he returned but I shook my head.

"No, the damage has been done."

Racetrack stage-whispered, "They're getting along!"

"I know!" Camelot sighed, watching us with an emotion I could not place, like she saw straight through us, and could read into our souls.

For once neither of us knew how to reply and just continued to glare at them both before Spot splashed his sister. Shocked she spluttered but her reaction was not delayed and she splashed back, beginning my first real splash fight. We ducked and screamed, splashed, and spat out the water that got in our unknowing mouths at an attack when we screamed. Laughing I swiped Spots hair in front of his face, blinding him, and swimming away underwater with the others. Leaving him disoriented and confused I was surprised when his arms encircled my waist and he pulled me to him. Warm and safe we treaded the water, catching our breath beneath the docks. He pecked me on the cheek as Mush and Blink came towards us and surprised they stopped, glaring fiercely and protectively.

"Weahs me rope?"

"By da big towah," Mush called back and Jack's footsteps above pounded, softening as he found the belt they had taken and in all probability without his permission.

"Wads it doing ovah dere, boys?" Jack's reprimanding voice called and from its tone he knew exactly what it was doing over there. Mush and Blink shrunk back under the dock.

"They're underwater," I lied and Jack snorted, but he did not push the untruthful matter.

"Use it to hoild yer pants up, boys, not ta tie Camelot to da docks," he called as his voice faded, finding something much more interesting in a flirtatious skirt and a revealing bodice. His smooth, charismatic voice charmed the young girl; the lost countess had no idea what she was in for. I almost felt sorry for her.

"Who's Jacky-boy tawkin to?" Spot wondered, craning his neck to see above his boys and around the docks, but only catching the heel of her white shoe. Awkwardly I shifted beside the boys, unsure whether to shoot him a dirty look, an inquisition, or to let it lie; it was not as if we were actually together, publicly or privately, but for all his serious exclamations and flirtations he should not work to swoon other girls. I had been flirting with Sparky, but it was all in good fun, teasing- Camelot was as well and her heart belonged to Racetrack through it all.

"Some goil," Mush shrugged, carefully evading the subject but Spot's attention was not changed and I tried so very hard not to meet Mush's worried gaze. Ever attempting to avoid conflict and to protect his friends he was empathetic and aware to what was happening, to how unsure I was as I clung to them all and one of the supporting beams for the docks. I hated this side of me. I hated how unsure I was, torn between two extremes of how I wanted to act, but as usual it concluded with me ignoring it and smiling to Camelot who did not even return my smile. She was scowling at her brother, Racetrack's fury making her glare harder.

"She lives in one of da nicest houses," Spot said as he swam back towards us, meeting his sister's hard glare and defensively snapped, "Wad?"

Ignoring her brother she took Racetracks hand and swam away from him, to join in some game Specs and Dutchy were playing and amazed he watched them swim by. I was the most amazed out of us all when he did not go after her, or even shout. He only muttered, "I hate it when she does dat. Just like her muddah."

"Ya ain't gonna say something ta her?" I questioned but stammered at his surprised look, "Not dat ya should, I'se just saying."

"Not woith it. Hell hath no fury like dat goil when she's set off. Gawd have mercy on da fool who tries ta get in her way."

Sometimes I just simply had to admit that I did not understand Spot Conlon and I probably never would. As soon as I had something understood about his enigma, he would rebuild it differently.

"Wads wrong, Ven?" he asked so nonchalantly and apparently I rolled my eyes for I felt his annoyed look, defensive, just waiting to snap out a short, 'wad'.

"Nodin, Spot," I lied, hoping it would distract him enough to pull upon masks that I had been abandoning lately, setting the china doll porcelain face in place, but feeling it break with that one long look. That damned look! His blue eyes were penetrating, heart-wrenching, making me feel so small and insignificant yet like every emotion I had was being written out on display. Hell, I did not even know what was wrong. "I'se just tired."

"Yeah, we've been out heah fer a while," he agreed, preoccupying himself with looking everyone over for signs of harm, for exhaustion when they had too much masculine pride to admit they were worn, spread too thin to drag themselves to the surface. It was dangerous to be out here when you were too tired, and I knew some of the Brooklyn boys were suffering from afflictions, or loss of blood from street fights, and they wore away the quickest. Unfortunately they were also the least likely to admit they were tired.

I watched from below as Spot pulled himself out of the water, his eyes targeting one lanky newsboy standing near the water's edge, preparing for another dive. He barked, "I want ya inside, Shoity."

Daringly, Shorty stared inquisitively at Spot, just about daring to protest and that one look was enough to fuel Spot's most severe glare. "I need ya ta check on D'Artagnan. Da beast likes you."

"Aye aye, captain," he obeyed, saluting Spot and maneuvering around the dock to saunter away to the Brooklyn lodging house, not allowing Spot or any of the others to see his relief. Admiringly I watched Spot scan the rest of the docks for any sickly newsie, proud how he had controlled a potentially disastrous situation to leave everybody happy in the end. Especially safe.

"Give me yer hand," Spot commanded, kneeling upon the hard dock and obediently I held out a waiting hand. His smoothly calloused hand hauled me out of the water and he helped me settle upon the deck until I had enough gravity beneath my feet to stand, until he could let go and stop balancing me, but still he did not let go. His hand remained against my back as Mush and Blink pulled themselves out of the water before they were told to do so.

"Camelot, get out of da watah before it gets you," he asserted and the water sprayed Racetrack since she spun so quickly. Pleading she looked up at him, her eyes resting for a moment on his hand against my back, before she remembered her purpose and begged him with her eyes to let her stay in the water. It was not that he feared she would drown or be attacked without him because for most of the day he had been minding his own business, but he had his reasons, and they were probably good ones from his stern look. He pointed at her, then the dock, a definite warning to haul her butt out of the water. She looked exasperatedly at the trio of boys before Racetrack followed her and Spot helped her out of the water, pointedly leaving Racetrack to get up on his own.

"So who is D'Artagnan anyway?" I wondered as Camelot and I rang our hair out over the water, and the boys shook themselves off the best that they could.

"My kitten," she said simply and smiled fondly at my surprised look. A rough lodging house was not the best place for a stray kitten, no matter how adorable it might be. It would just be another burden, one that these boys did not need. "I found him about a month ago when I was selling. He's beautiful, striped black and tan."

"I wouldn't think Spot would let ya keep him," I explained my shock, still marveling at the absurdity of the name she had chosen.

"He yelled at foist and den tried ta throw da cat out when I hid it in our room. Den I started begging and crying. He still wasn't gonna let me. Den I started crying more and he gave."

"Ya bettah be thankful dat cute liddle sistah thing still woiks on me," Spot grumbled sourly and experately trained his face to appear stern, but an affection grin broke his severity when she smirked.

I turned on him in shock. "You threw D'Artagnan outside!"

"Women!" he cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I wanna take him to Manhattan but Jack keeps saying he's allergic. I don't believe him, I saw him petting a cat last week dat some pretty goil he was flirting wid had. I just can't decide if I wanna start crying or just sneak da cat in our room."

"You are a terrible person, Camelot," Blink sighed and she grinned triumphantly.

"We're getting a cat," Mush returned and I snickered at his womanly cheerfulness as we began the short walk towards the Brooklyn lodging house. "Why'd ya name him D'Artagnan instead of something like...Mush?"

"Cause den I'd kick it," she said through glaring eyes and we exchanged a laugh at Mush's expense. "It's from da Three Musketeers. I'se cultured, see?"

"Knowing how ta read don't make ya smart," Blink retorted and begged forgiveness before she even punched him in the stomach, and once she had he angrily hopped away and remained as far away from her as possible. I marveled at how bizarre and dysfunctional they were when Spot nodded his approval.

"Ladies foist," Spot taunted as he held the door open for Mush and instead of taking it insultingly he just waltzed right in, laughing at Spot.

"Haha, ya just held da door open fer me, lady or not."

Blink grinned and thumped him on the back as he walked in too and Spot gave me a 'why did I let them in' look as Racetrack and Camelot passed him and he motioned for me to enter as well. I did so and the heavy door closed behind Spot, the natural light closed behind us, only drifting in through moasic patterns through the grimy windows. Dirt and dust coated everything, even worse than at the lodging house, and they mirrored each other perfectly except the Brooklyn boys had more sparatic crates and liquor bottles littering the floor. It was everything I had imagined it to be, miscellaneous tables, crates, hammocks, and mats set erratically throughout the room, a pair of winding stairs leading to the second level, and to whatever secrets laid up there. To whichever girl Spot had broken with lies so sweet, and a bittersweet smile as he told her to leave the room. But I would not think of it. I only followed them up the stairs and through a door at the very end of the hallway.

"Dis is my room," Spot announced in this grand tour and winking showed me the satin drapery of his bed; I had no doubt they formerly belonged to Medda. Carefully I avoided looking at him and made myself comfortable beside Mush on his three legged dresser.

"We know," Blink said, picking up a stray newspaper like he owned the place. Camelot was making herself right at home on the bed and Racetrack hesitantly stayed at its side, awkwardly waiting permission to get on the bed; never mind it was Spot's bed, but he would be lying beside his kid sister as he did so. Sighing I pushed away from the dresser once I finally got settled. It was worth Spot's taunts to save Racetrack from a potentially disasterous situation when there could be no right decision, and relieved he stepped back, allowing me to settle upon the bed.

"Comfortable?" he predictabely taunted and blankly I stared right back, refusing to be humiliated for that would insuade something that never existed.

"As long as you ain't heah I'm fine," I retorted icily withdrawing and reservedly hiding inside myself, terrified to venture past the pressures, to dare to discover if I was amused by his behavior or truly disliked it, as their glares were telling me to. Spot was already shifting uncomfortably under the boys' piercing protective stares, strongly disliking this little realistic display. Stubbornly Spot winked at me, but knew enough of propriety and his own good health to keep his distance.

A sharp knock reverberated the heavy door and it opened with Spot's sharp, "Come in".

"Thought Camelot would want her cat," Shorty explained and Spot nodded, taking the tiny kitten with one hand and dumping it upon the bed beside her. She hardly wasted time in glaring at him for his rough treatment and scooped the kitten up, nodding me closer and I crawled beside her for a better look at the tiny kitten. It blinked its sleepy eyes, revealing moss gold inquisitive eyes, piercing, like they knew exactly who I was, and who I would become and worriedly I looked up at Camelot who just smiled knowingly. Otherwise it was adorable from its tiny head to its striped body; everybody needed a cat. It purred and curled as we oohed and ahed, basking in the attention.

"Y'know I ain't nevah gonna be able ta drag dem away from dat damn cat, right?" Spot questioned and Shorty just shrugged innocently with a dimpled grin. He probably knew all too well.

"I'm taking a guess in da dark heah, but he doesn't like cats, does he?"

"Not really," Camelot sighed, rubbing the cat beneath its chin. "I suggested we get a dog too but he didn't seem ta think we should."

"Can we Spot?" I asked, purposefully annoying and he groaned with a "Don't you start".

"You'd get along wid it well. Rolling around wid it, ey dog-boy?" I had nearly forgotten the familiar insult, and from Spot's short fuse he seemed to have as well but he fought his flare, fought for good-natured teasing.

"Shorty, go get some spare shoits fer da boys heah," Spot ordered and without question, like an obedient dog yearning for his masters approval and recognition, Shorty left the room, softly closing it behind him. Couldn't let his newsboy see him laughed at. "I would just make all you'se stand outside till yer dry, but yer clothes smell bad enough now. Don't want you stinking up me home."

"I don't think we can make it woise," Blink jested good-naturedly while worriedly Mush smelled himself and self-consciously turned towards Camelot and I for our input.

"Do I really smell bad?"

"No, Spot does though," I disagreed helpfully, not even daring to agree when Mush was so self-conscious.

"Excuse me, I smell like roses," he argued, delightedly sniffing himself and proudly looking around the room, daring us to disagree. Before I knew he was there he had shoved his arm beneath my nose. "Sniff. Take a big whiff."

I fell onto my back, curling into the fetal position to melodramatically gag, desperately putting my hands around my neck and while I squirmed on the bed Camelot shoved the kitten onto my face. Its claws dug into my face and screeching I pulled it off me to a chorus of laughter. Grinning she said, "Now dats a bad smell."

The boys left the room quickly to change in the bunkroom and left Camelot and I alone in Spot's room, trusting that she could keep me from looking through his things in hopes for some emotional poetry or any secret that would degrade him. I knew enough that she would not let me look and instead was opening the middle drawer on the dresser, shuffling through it, and I did hear papers turning. She reappeared with a clump of clothes. "I keep da one's Ranger grew out of heah," she explained the surplus and spread them upon the bed in an organized effort, admiring the completion of the apparel.

"Ya own a skirt?" Incredulously I stared at her but she was not roused enough to turn or even defend herself but with a preoccupied murmur of consent. Her eyes moved quickly over everything before a defined grin split her face bright and gestured for me to stand beside her immediately and I did not dare disobey. Unaware of wrinkles she handed me a bundled collection, snapping out orders to change and only to call for help putting it together. Blankly I stared at her as she returned to pondering the clothes for herself.

"They were my cousins. Medda had dem," she finally clearly responded as I dressed. It was no ordeal to fit well enough into the bloomers and camisole, but hesitantly I caressed the rayon blouse, cream colored and fashionable. Carefully I slipped into it and felt how form fittingly it clung to my body to its best advantage, the neck high enough to leave almost everything to the imagination but cut delicately so low that seductively it would enchant. The sleeves tightly ended around my elbows, a thread of ribbon holding it there and bits of trim ran slightly lower. Eagerly I pulled the skirt over my hips, without thinking that I was degrading myself for femininity, feeling it flow graceful and light to just below my knees, the edges different lengths, the colors different, a blended effort of light green and peach. A completion to the ensemble I slipped into my black boots, worn brown, and turned for Camelot's approval.

"I'd be surprised if da whole room doesn't fall silent upon seeing you."

"Why are we dressing like dis?" I demanded, for it was far easier to ignore such a high compliment and brush away conceited or modest returns, and disappointment when nobody notices. I felt the slang oddly roll off my tongue, a bad taste, an oddity for the sideshow circus, feeling misplaced in these fashionable clothes. They would be snubbed by the elite but for our class they were the best we owned.

"I feel like looking pretty," she explained and I did not argue with a statement that was so true; I had not worn clothes like these for years, and though I was not completely comfortable in them I longed for Spot's recognition that I was an actual woman, not just some troublesome street rat. She was just finishing, turned from me, while I struggled with pressing the reasons when the decision was so random, something beneath her voice saying it was not as random and nonchalant as she was making it seem.

"I look like a fool," she sighed, examining herself critically and longingly she looked towards where our street clothes had been dumped.

"Spin," I ordered, knowing I needed to be the judge of that and after a minute of quiet protesting she did as she was told and gracefully turned, her skirt swirling around her long legs. Majestically the skirt shimmered from a silvery blue to purple, shifting with the light and the way she turned, a rose hemline defining the layers and giving her gams the illusion of length, it ending just below her knees. A wide and swooping leather belt buckled with a cameo, fitting along her hips as the silvery blue elbow length rayon camisole flattered her as nothing else could. Self-consciously she shifted in her bare feet, attempting a smile but it faltered and died with my intense observations. Her fragility was strangely unsettling, like a dream nobody can grasp.

"You don't even need it to look breath-taking, but it looks great on you."

"Thanks," she shrugged, rummaging around only to appear with a hairbrush which she easily and quickly ran through her hair, drying it with a spare piece of cloth. She used an ornate comb to brush it up in an intricate yet simple design, pulling out stray locks to frame her face. "It was me muddahs."

"Now tell me," I ordered, barricading the door just in case she got any ideas while I took the offered hairbrush. "Why are we dressing up?"

Flashing a brilliant mischievous smile she feigned innocence and watched me stroke and dry my hair, and bemusedly awaited my desperate pleads, but to myself I swore that I would only beg for information if she resisted. Camelot was near to bursting with how much she wanted to tell me, I could tell she had been all day, but remained resolute, wanting me to beg her for the information. Shrugging, she flopped onto the bed and began petting the purring kitten.

It was a battle to see who was more stubborn, and in the end I could not take anymore but stormed over and faced her squarely, taking the mewing kitten away, holding it out of her reach. Now it was a test of tactfulness and her whines and threats had no effect as I pushed her away with one hand and the other securely held onto the kitten, making sure it was still safe. She wouldn't dare scream either, and it was too prude like and bratty to scream over something so trivial.

Even with the becoming clothes flattering her, no vivid stretch of the wildest imagination would constrain her and label her a lady and she moved as graceful as a lioness but as swift as any predator, knocking me off balance and catching the kitten before it even hit the bed. I grabbed at the soft blanket, entwining my fingers in its embrace to keep from sliding off- I had not felt her or seen her strike, proving just how able and skilled she was in the art of fighting. Grumbling I got myself together and sat scowling at her proud smile. "Fine. Please tell me, I'm dying heah."

"Dat doesn't sound sincere ta me, Venice," she taunted though I knew she would not press me further. Crossing her legs, her skirt circling her, she leaned in close until our foreheads were touching in the most intimate schoolgirl gossiping moments. Those unique heterochromic eyes blinked intensely, bright with every flame of her spirit, as indescribable as the day I had met her and I knew if I ever wrote a memoir so I would never forget every consuming image and emotion I would never capture those eyes as I could the others. Like the ocean with the sunset reflecting upon them, or Van Gogh's Starry Night painting condensed into two bright, dramatic orbs.

"Whatever it is, whatever happens tonight, it will take your breath away. Let it," she whispered secretively, her voice echoing so intensely I forgot to breathe. I stared at her and for some answer to this cryptic riddle but she only looked at me right back, pleading with her eyes for me to let myself believe. Needing to forge some contact she took my hand and let her eyes flutter closed like her words took her concentration and melodically she whispered, "Believe that dreams can come true and there are fairytales".

Her eyes were squeezed tight like she needed to believe it herself and I realized that more than anything, more than anybody, she did. She needed to believe she could free herself from ghosts that would not rest and chains that tied her down, that there are happy endings, that there is beauty, and more worth living for than what we're given. She needed the hope of whatever tonight might bring. It would break my heart to question it and shatter dreams she tread so seriously softly on.

Silently her hand fell trembling into her lap and D'Artagnan rubbed its loyal head against her other hand, purring when absent-mindedly she rubbed its head. Pityingly I watched her fight off what pulled her ever down, all the ridicule that society had bred, her own guilt, and the demonic memories. She always rose above it all. So strong, but so weak, she bit hard on her lip and willed the hand to stop its trembling. I took it in mine and pulled her up, leaving her there as maternally I found boots for her and waited patiently as she put them on, focusing upon that, leaving her mind blank.

The door slid slowly open with my touch and I waited for her to close the moth eaten curtains before together we left the room, not breaking an unspoken vow of silence. The noise washed over us like an overpowering wave, pulling us in and under like the tides, even as we stood above them all in the narrow, dimly lit hallway. As softly as I could I inquired, "Should we go downstairs or find our companions?"

"Downstairs," she replied easily, taking charge of the situation with more flowing ease than even her brother. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and brilliantly smiled, "Let dem find us."

I giggled behind my hand, until seconds later I stopped myself and mortified pulled the hand away. "I don't wanna wear a skirt if dis is wad it does ta me!"

"You'll like wad else it does, trust me," she mysteriously said and waltzed towards the railing, contemplating the stairs for a moment, torn between hiding and parading herself even though we were in plain view. Casually she skipped down the stairs as hesitantly I followed, with much less bounce in my step; I was an imposter in pretty clothes, but I was more an outsider here and would be so much more comfortable if we were in Manhattan. It was easy enough for her when she knew the boys like brothers and as Spot's sister, as a Conlon, had automatic leniency with them but when I would come parading down these stairs I did not want to be seen as another pretty girl to come into Spot's room, come out, and never to come back. She was waiting at the end of the stairs, looking expectantly up at me and squeezing my eyes shut I took the plunge and went quickly down the stairs. I followed her away, keeping my chin raised and defiant and deflecting any stares with a quick smile and any whistles with an icy glare but most of the boys did not do more than look up before they intently interested themselves with their own business. Surprisingly they did not look too surprised at seeing Camelot, only smiling with pride like seeing their younger sister's or cousin's not embarrass them, even impress the people they longed to make connections with.

"How's it rollin Willie?" she questioned smoothly and I marveled at her nonchalance when she so obviously appeared stunning to him. I wasn't sure if she noticed and was teasing him or if she honestly never saw her affect on men; I did not miss his interested and surprised eyes, his leer, the thoughts probably racing around his testosterone driven mind. He had no guilt of them either since he was the official newbie of Brooklyn, or so I had heard from a snippet of Jack's conversation. She boosted herself up onto the table set between him and Fish and crossed her ankles, as she leaned in towards him. Alright, she was definitely teasing him now.

"Get off da table, Camelot, and get some decency," Fish scolded. It was relieving to know that I wasn't the only one to be reprimanded for unladylike actions, especially when he probably liked them. Over her shoulder she stared penetratingly at him, soul-piercing and he did not wither away but stared just as coldly back at her.

"If it was any other goil you would be fine. You would not even be leering, you would be wishing they were more inappropriate." She was right and he knew it. I knew it too; it was an obnoxious truth.

"Well you ain't just some goil," he barked and took her upper-arm, pulling her off the table. Before she was yanked down she pouted at Willie, winked, and jumped down without Fish's forceful help.

"Who's winnin?" I took my cue and leaned over the table, making sure that I leaned so more than enough was exposed and Willie's grin was readable. I did not even have to wait a full fifteen seconds before Fish's arm was around my waist and he was pushing me away.

"If I didn't know bettah I'd say Camelot's been influencing you," he insulted but easily I brushed it off, knowing that he was always harsher than he really felt. "I guess clothes can't make da lady."

"Guess not," I shrugged, still smiling at Willie who we had reduced to nearly drooling.

"Willie my boy, let me teach ya a liddle something. Dis is Camelot Conlon, yes, Conlon, meaning Spot's sistah and someone who's like a sistah ta pretty much every newsie in New Yawk. Now, meet Venice, Manhattan's newest edition but has already charmed and taken da hearts of da whole of Manhattan. Dey love her like a sistah already. You take interest in either of dem you'll get yer head broken, nevah mind yer heart."

Laughing at his terrified expression we bounced away, the skip in my step too as the skirts flatteringly swished around my knees and together we helped each other onto a swinging hammock, out of the boys' way. I was thrilled, I was jubilant, not only at our pointless flirtations but also from Fish's elegant speech. He had addressed me like I was part of Manhattan, not their burden, but their sister, one of them and safety enclosed around me. A feeling of belonging, not just another nameless face.

"Do you do dis often?"

"Not really," she shrugged. "I nevah do it, cause most of da time da boys woulda soaked me good and I would want ta soak myself after I thoght about it. Only when I'se desperate fer attention."

"Ya want attention now?"

"Not so much. Why are you doing it?"

"Don't change the subject," I said hurriedly because I could not even admit the truth to myself. It made me feel good, powerful, when all Spot ever did was eye other women. Lowering my voice I accused, "I thought you and Racetrack were together."

"Well you can't really call it that, now can you?" For the first time in the same breath I heard bitterness seeping from her lips as she spoke of Racetrack. Even they apparently had their troubles. "We're not really together if it's in secret. Besides, to keep face he needs to flirt with oddah goils all da time."

I quieted as I understood, aware of this deep and touchy subject. She was flirting out of revenge, out of insecurity. Instead of arousing the envy of others, of every girl who longed to look like her and every boy who longed to have her, she was jealous. She was jealous of the women Racetrack flirted with out of habit and appearance, jealous of the insecurity of being with a man with no public affections. A secret, like she had been six months ago. While he was nothing like Swigs, and the situation was completely different, the painful similarities probably aroused more then jealousy in her. Every moment I was learning more, and even in that peripheral glance this morning I knew I knew nothing about it at all. Perhaps if I had been paying closer attention I would have realized before, I would have seen their quiet struggles, but I had been caught up in a selfish world of my own. I avowed to pay more attention.

"We have a ways to walk," Jack announced as he called our names, the boys appearing down the stairs and I realized they were dressed decently, all in their finest. Even their hair was combed and their faces clean.

"We'se tied up," Camelot replied seriously and following our voices alarmed faces peered around the tables to where we were attached to the wall, swinging feet above the ground in a crocheted hammock, or fishing net. Jack snorted audibly but did not come closer, talking to Fish instead and leaving his lesser's to help us out of our cocoon. Mush's warm cinnamon glow was brilliant tonight, his eyes full of boyhood wonder and curiosity, Kid Blink's amused grin pronounced in clean clothes and his scrubbed eye-patch. I reached out a careful hand for help, swinging precariously, and yelped a little once it swung further.

"Stop," I snapped once I realized what Camelot and Blink were doing. She was kneeling, swinging it with all her might as he pushed from the outside. Mush grabbed the hammock to help me. However, a short Italian newsboy rounded the corner and sensed the predicament. He gripped the net and rocked with all his might, and I grabbed Camelot's hands to pull them away, forgetting to hold on tight.

With a chorus of screams the world was literally turned upside-down and I swung, hitting the floor with a sickening thud but I hardly felt it at all, probably leaving at most a small bruise. Blankly I quietly watched the hammock swing above me, back and forth like a pendulum ticking my fate closer. Before the laughter started, laughter that I joined in that thrilling ride. Mush helped me up and I straightened out my skirt, purposefully stepping on Camelot's hair as Racetrack boosted her up. Shooting me her worst glare she straightened herself up as well, fixing her hair from where the comb had slid.

I could have laughed with Racetrack's face, and I should have, but there was something so mesmerizing with how he watched her every move like she was a goddess. Like she was what gave him reason to keep living, or his belief that this world was not long dead. Softly he cupped her chin and drew close, not daring to kiss her. Racetrack's sweet murmurs were tickling her ear as Camelot Conlon blushed scarlet.

Together we slipped from the back door, waiting by trashcans and sunsets for our leaders. Elegantly I sat upon some decrepit crates, listening to Racetrack's fluent Italian whisper sonnets so soft. "Il mio cuore amava 'lavorare a ora? Foreswear la relativa vista -- per non ho visto mai la bellezza allineare 'lavorare a questa notte. "La notte che li ho venuti a contatto ha coperto nel moonlight, la notte sono caduto nell'amore con voi, il mio cuore amava. Siete la mia bellezza. Stasera è soltanto sopra esposizione per i ciechi che possono ritenere la morbidezza del vostro pannello esterno."

**Mr. Higgins' translations **

_Did my heart love 'til now? Foreswear its sight--for I never saw true beauty 'til this night."_

_the night i met you draped in moonlight, the night i fell in love with you, my heart loved. You are my beauty. Tonight it is only on display for the blind who can feel the softness of your skirt. _

**Shoutouts**

**Morbidlyartistic- **ah, you spotted it, I wondered if you would. I honestly did not even mean to when I wrote it, RENT is a way of life now. Thank you for reviewing and I hope this chapter was okay.

**Emba- **haha, yeah, sorry but I had to add a little drama in that chapter to move it along. Thank you so much for continuing to read and review, and I hope I hear from you soon!

**Scratch O'Brien**- gah, don't delete it! Its really cute. No, I really haven't planned this at all, every plot twist is pretty much depending on my mood that day and my muses. There's some stuff in it I regret adding but eventually if you think on it enough you can make it work. I really, really, really hope this chapter was alright. Thank you so much for reviewing!


	23. Chapter 23:Whole New World

Abstract Images, Chapter Twenty Three

The mellowed light absorbed and illuminated his best feature until they were joined again in a perfect display and while not entirely real, they were really perfect, and perfectly real to me. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and even with the most soulful and dangerous eyes, distortion can only be seen for some if the soul is ugly. Now, standing erect and regal at the ajar door, shouting last-minute commands, his hair was billowing, his skin flawless, and his eyes smoldering.

"Don't ya look like a big boy?" Camelot's provocation dragged me away from polluted thoughts I shouldn't be having. Our leader did look quite the charmer, finely tailored suit enhancing soft hazel eyes, but though his soul was not distorted I could never see Jack Kelly as attractive- good looking and quite the charmer, but I could never be attracted to him.

"Everyone looks alright at night. Its wad yer waking up to dat counts. Wad dame would wanna make up to dat mug?" Spot taunted as Jack went on raving about the admirers that would throw themselves at him, counting them off on his fingers and smugly appraising the awaiting newsies. Being a leader certainly had its perks.

Determined to not sneak one more look at Spot I focused every span of my attention upon Jack and his many conquests, as from behind him Racetrack mocked and mimicked. It took Jack less time than usual to notice this disruption and he elbowed back almost as swiftly as Racetrack jumped out of the way. Laughing carelessly the protagonist smirked in arrogance but remained just out of his victims reach. I watched this progression intently, feeling the others laughter, all but one missing from its completion. Without thinking and simultaneously knowing exactly what I was doing I glanced at Spot Conlon, leaning reservedly against the door, cool blue eyes watching me. Scarlet added life and adrenaline to my pale features and I had to bite my lip to keep from looking away, defiantly staring back, an unspoken challenge between us. Leisurely he looked me over, pleased with what he saw- it was in that twitch at his lips, the lightness of his eyes, the weakness in his stance. Or did he realize that I was not all that attractive after all?

"Racetrack before I kill ya lets get a move on it," Jack grumbled, waving his instigator and his minions and happily they pranced ahead, Racetrack and Camelot skipping through desolation and debris like it was the fruitfulness of Italy and the old country. Jack did not have to beckon again for me to silently follow, feeling Spot stalk up to me and remain deliberately close enough for me to hear him, to feel heavy breaths whisper against my back, but he remained half a step behind.

Bitter voices ruined my utopic thoughts. "Ya watching da way she walks?"

"If I am its no concern of yers. It's a nice view," Spot responded sharply to Blinks provocations. Heavy breathing from my one eyed friend and his loyal softer companion buried romantically carried away thoughts and scenes. They seemed to know the worst times to interrupt with instinctive protectiveness- unheeded warnings from what seemed so long ago rang loud and clear, and to them the warning lights for the point of no return were flaring. It was too late, when I had been first introduced to his royal highness return was a fickle and pointless attempt.

"Leave her alone, Spot," Blink warned and the most stubborn criminal and prince alike would not argue with that tone, the tone of threats weighed too heavily to speak aloud of, especially in front of a lady who rarely acted like one. Unfortunately, Spot Conlon had a class all of his own.

Before he was given the opportunity to increase their irritation (which I knew well enough he would) or set him in his subordinate place I snapped out, "I can take care of myself, boys. He ain't doing nothing but trying ta get a rise out of you two."

For once Spot sunk into silence with my warning glare, for I knew his game well and it would not be forgotten so easily. The boys looked desperate enough to speak some more, but little did they want to draw Jacks attention to it and sullenly kept quiet. I waved for them to move ahead of me, but they could not be gotten rid of so easily.

"Yer guard dogs are beginning to get on me nerves," Spot hissed, making sure they heard.

"Likewise," I retorted, probably louder than I should be, and quickened my speed just that much more. Spot outdid me, coming to rest by my side, stubbornly wrapping an arm around my waist. The sensations were sensual and exciting, dangerous and alluring, a crescendo of gooseflesh and arousal, but the security I felt in Spots arms was a façade. Shoving his arm off I quickly stepped away from him, glaring icily. I hissed, "I don't like being used, Conlon."

"Unless yer being used well," he retorted aimlessly, pompously, irking me to his limit for the moment and my pace slowed enough to allow Mush and Kid Blink to draw closer. They understood the purpose, even if it was a meaningless threat, and coolly Spot watched the proceedings- I almost felt sorry for him, for he was watching his steady empire fall out of his control. Ecstatic with the power it gave me, for once I felt dominant to him, and the smile could not be helped. He understood me better than I did, and his glare was powerful, domineering, but useless when he was helpless.

"I don't like being used either," he growled, low but clear in his inaudibility was his reserved danger. My temper flared and I felt the familiarity of the blood rush to my head; it was almost comforting, that temper of mine, supporting me when my good sense failed.

I did not bother to respond when I did not know how to. Too stubborn to apologize, too weak to loose, and too strong to submit we kept a pointless hostile distance, almost allowing my Manhattan companions to perforate the air between us. I returned Mush's worried gaze with a furious, though helpless, look- Jack's heavy footsteps were rushing my blood, and Camelot's and Racetracks happiness were pushing me towards the edge when everything weighed against them. Blinks attempts at small talk were almost worse than the angry looks Mush kept throwing at Spot, who returned them with just as much agitation.

"We bring sorrow to everybody every time we argue," I sighed, quite aware of our effect in this somber silence and he shrugged; of course, everything is domination in his ears. He caught my quickened pace.

"I know," he admitted, an attempt at an apology for his nature. I felt his mouth against my ear, and unwillingly I listened- so badly I wanted to tear from him and continue in my anger, but his enchantments (that weren't entirely all his doing) mellowed a frustration that I could never hold onto. Softly he touched my arm. "You do look beautiful tonight."

"And I don't every other night?" I playfully teased, trying to keep an angry countenance.

"I don't see you enough at night ta know," he teased seductively, winking. Suddenly serious, though unaware of the tension behind us, he said, "Yes. Da clothes don't change dat. Dey just make ya look…different."

I did not bother arguing with such a truthful although contradictory statement- to him I was beautiful without the clothes that only made me look like a lady. I resisted the taunts pointed at Jack's tights pants. I was too determined not to ruin compliments I could not take. I was too determined not to analyze every look and syllable until I read too far into it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, for your entertainment and convenience direct your eyes, yes that means get them off da goils, ta da third ring. Dats to yer left, Mush," Jack directed and sheepishly Mush glanced down the street, to the nothingness cobblestones and dilapidated buildings created. It was enough to keep me pressing forward and enough to halt me in my steps with the others, because though my acquaintance with Jack was brief, his character was too strong to leave carelessness. Suspiciously we watched his confident smile.

"I want ta be da ringmastah," Spot argued pointlessly, grinning at his immaturity and Jack pulled himself to a height we had forgotten, puffing out his chest.

"No, I'm taller," Jack stubbornly retorted while Spot brushed his hair back, only leaving Jack to follow. Too bad they both could do that hair flipping thing.

"Besides, we need ya in da freak show Spot. Yer our main attraction," I provoked with a smarmy little smirk that Spot easily returned. I prepared myself for the retaliation but his good-humor got the best of him, and he only smirked bemusedly, pretending to be proud of his new title.

"Now step back fer yer safety," Jack instructed and to humor him we took a step back, following his gaze to a low rumble of turning wheels. Kid Blink's surprise described what I did not know. "Don't worry, dey won't notice us. I do dis all da time."

"Dey come round Brooklyn every night round dis time ta get da respectable's out," Spot explained, his eyes betraying the frustration and bitter scorn for these people that his voice would not. Impulsively I rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, almost surprised when he did not shake it off and instead put the warmth of his own over it.

"Dey let you on?" I questioned Jack, trying to ignore what Spots hand had done.

His look was almost pitying at my naivety. "Yeah doll, dey don't say a woid."

Surprised I shrugged as Jack waved us into an alley, hidden from their view and a sudden understanding overwhelmed me with the dire urge to hide for my sheer innocent stupidity. Of course they would not say a word if they did not know we got on- to the back, clinging for dear life.

Quietly Jack was instructing and organizing and Spot did not interrupt, watching the proceedings with casual indifference, though I was sure if he disagreed he would not remain silent. He was not Jack's inferior, if anything he thought himself the superior and was humoring him. "Blink and Mush, you two on foist, I know you know how ta get on. Spot you take Ven aftah, da boys will make sure you get on okay kid, don't worry, it ain't dat hard. Den Race and Camelot, cause I'se gonna sleep easy and pretend dat she's nevah done it before. Den I will."

He hardly had time to utter his last quiet phrase before he was pushing Mush and Blink out of the alley and they were leaping onto the trolley, catching it easily, agile and strong enough to hold on. Spot's hand was entwined in mine, a reminder of promised safety and a forceful hold as my feet picked up and ran with him, jogging after the trolley, listening to wheels that could crush us instantaneously. Adrenaline rushing, as we drew feet away Spot pulled me in front of him and I took Mush's waiting hands and hopped on, inertia and Mush's firm grasp pulling me in as far as I could go. Alarmed and worried I turned sharply waiting to see Spot lagging behind, but he was solitarily pulling himself up. I offered an unhelpful hand, knowing well enough that Mush and Blink would not, and though he was perfectly capable he took it. Within the blink of an eye we were upon the back, panting slightly, and hands still entwined like they were meant to fit together. Blink pulled me back to make room, but Spots hand was too firm to release me if I had intended on letting go, and together we moved back before his hand slipped away. He was positioned in the center as we watched the other three running, intent upon his freely laughing sister. She took his hand and she skipped up, effortlessly landing at the edge, and he took her waist to balance her. Mush helped Racetrack as Camelot watched, frustration flickering lightly in wide eyes- she wanted to help Race up, because in their small world they needed nothing but each other and were determined on it. But her brother's hold on her arm was tight, like a mother holding onto her toddler crossing the street. She did not try to shrug him off as Race and Mush helped Jack (who had been waiting until we were all safely aboard) onto the moving trolley.

I did not miss the cool look Spot sent to Racetrack as he inched towards her. He was quiet when Racetrack was doing nothing more but holding onto the trolley, nonchalantly looking around even if his eyes were frequent upon her. Race was as helpless as an infant under Spot's withering icy eyes, the warning and threat clear. So they weren't as artful and discreet as they had hoped.

I moved to him, slipping my hand in his with a distracting smile and Spot smirked down at me; if he was aware of the pressure of having our closest friends around us he did not let on. I tried to keep the color from my cheeks and the hair out of my eyes as he leaned down and his lips brushed lightly over mine, a sweet, promising and secure kiss. For a moment as we drew away he smirked pompously at the others, defiantly challenging them to do anything about it, before I stepped on his foot and he grinned down at me, looking away and avoiding their intruding eyes.

While the journey was not entirely quiet it was not as boisterous as usual- we had to keep our façade of not being there, and could not draw attention to our free-ride. Casual conversation and teasing lightened the atmosphere, only broken with Spot's occasional hostile looks towards Racetrack- the boy was daft, and remained stubbornly beside Camelot, sometimes elevating their casualness with a secret smile or a long look, even daring to rub his fingers against her hand. If Spot did not know Racetrack and was unafraid of forbidding his sister, knowing her well enough and knowing from experience that she would just be worse if he did so, he would be soaking Racetrack good. Too many particulars and details sometimes worked wonders.

"Anybody care ta tell me weah we are going?" I inquired easily, expecting an answer but when silence greeted me I looked up and into each face.

"Dey won't tell us either," Blink shrugged, nodding to his fellow musketeers as our two leaders and Brooklyn royalty exchanged a conspiracists look.

"Hey, don't look at me," Jack defended as Mush and Blink pierced him with heavy looks. "It was dere idea."

"Only da best from da Conlons," Spot said confidently until his gutter washed and crude mind took the control and immediately he paled and looked at Camelot. I snorted, barely imagining what was running through the womanizer's mind, cocky with amusement at how the tables have turned.

"Get off," Jack hissed, his lips hardly moving as he stared down at that street slipping away beneath us. His eyes silenced our protests and authoritively gestured below and trusting without question Mush and Blink hopped off, catching their balance and jogging after us. I hardly had time to marvel at their blind obedience before I was submitting to Spots hand, ground wobbling beneath our feet as we landed, Racetrack and Camelot youthfully leaping off, and Jack following hurriedly. "One of da conductors was coming ta check it out and trust me, it would not be good if dey found us out."

"Our night would've been ruined," Racetrack agreed solemnly, smirking with this nonchalant view of our years in the states hands.

"A lot of things would have been ruined," Jack replied as he started walking again, leading us forward. "It ain't dat much further anyway."

The rest of the walk was not the quiet I had imagined but the noise I was used to. The trio of musketeers was getting antsy, excited for adventure and mystique, their pace an inconsistent pattern of tearing after each other, provoking the rest of us into the chase, and talking louder than any drunk Irishman. Camelot and I traded interests frequently, joining in the boys' merriment or whispering in the twilight with each other, Racetrack, and Spot. Jack's charismatic narration of his own adventures in the city filled any emptiness, and what could've been a most tedious and exhausting walk became its own adventure. The city was steadily dwindling for sparseness, and a line of trees marked an end as we rounded the corner.

Voices filled the gaps in the tree with leaping glows of oranges and reds, distant instruments being experimented with and questioningly I looked at Spot, excitement brewing in fragile veins. His face did not give anything away. I turned towards Camelot but she would not pay me mind.

"Spot?" I skipped ahead of him, taking his hands in mine and trusting him to not let me fall.

"Venice?" he retorted but did not say more, and only carefully led me around the twigs that were beginning to inconvenience our path as we treaded through mid shin deep grass. I did not want to think about what could be lurking in their depths and regretted not having my usual trousers on.

"Turn around," Spot said crisply and he stepped over a fallen tree that I would have tripped right over. I took his offered hand and as gracefully as I could in a skirt climbed over the trunk. I yearned to press forward, to dive between the trees but Spot was waiting for Racetrack and Camelot to climb over the tree trunk. His cool calculating gaze did not waver until gentlemanly Racetrack helped her over the tree, and I had a feeling he was the only one she would forget her independence for.

Her words echoed in my ears, their fairytales and breath-taking hopes. For once the newsies had fallen quiet, struggling through the scratchy grass, anticipation and wonderment widening their eyes. I felt Camelot brush past me.

"Ladies and gents…"

"Hear dat, she just called us gents," Mush said proudly.

Coolly and regally she said, "My mistake. This is a ring of the forbidden and you will not speak of it again, to anyone, not even amongst yourselves." It was no question or advisory, it was an order and her steely tone and blazing eyes were not to be argued with. She was as regal and commanding as her brother and he watched her with pride and respect. Yet she could not be coldly dispassionate, and the fire that kept her going for so long leaked behind those words, a warning of the scorching trouble they would face if they broke her orders.

Only Jack dared to speak. I looked to him when he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable and said, "I thought you said they'd be gone by morning's light."

"So I did. They'll be gone by dawn, you have my word, but their memory should never have been. I won't take the chance of anybody knowing they've been here, and using that against them." She took in all of us with one swooping, warning look. "Remember, once we are past those trees we are not in our territory. We're in theirs. We play by their rules and we accept their laws. It's humanities common sense but if you're warned you're overstepping that line you will step back quickly. You won't question it even if it might not make sense to you."

"I ain't sure I wanna go anymore," Racetrack chuckled, an attempt of lightening a mood that could never be truly extinguished with the sounds of music, laughing, and snippets of conversation from behind us. It only took a second look at my swirling skirt to know where the Conlon's had taken us.

"Why Spot?" I demanded, glancing furtively up at him and it was plain he did not understand my crossness. "You know bettah than I what type they are."

"It's all rumors and curses, Venice. Your arrogance disgusts me. Usually its da oddah way around," he spat out. I opened my mouth to protest but fell quiet, unwillingly allowing the truth of his words pour into every pore. I was worse than the elite snubbing the poor because I knew the turmoil and hardships at the fringe of society, and I could only assume the hell these people put up with. Camelot's warning had not been a comforting one, but they lived differently than we did- a similar warning could be said for ourselves, or any immigrant that had taken over an immigrant city.

He understood my silence for an apology I would not give, and he did not push it further to ruin the glamour of tonight. "We want ta see dem before dey leave. Besides, ain't ya sick of selling by day and sleeping by night?"

"Wait heah," Camelot instructed and impulsively Jack made to follow one of her escapades, experience teaching him never to let one of his newsies or friends wander in a territory he did not have control over. It was Spot who signaled him to stop, cool blue eyes steadying his surprise.

Anxiously we waited for the seconds she had mysteriously departed before twigs breaking and grass crunching under the familiar rhythm of her steps eased us all. The fires behind her illuminated a foggy outline as she beckoned us to follow. Close to my ear Spot explained, "She was telling 'em we had come and to make sure dey wouldn't treat us like strangers."

They had a clear code in dealing with strangers- do unto others before they have the chance to do unto you. Our mistrust was arbitrary compared to theirs. "And she has freedom heah?"

"Look at her, Lani," he said quietly and I almost mistook it for a word I did not know, the name too unfamiliar, too unattached to the person I was. I was more Venice than I ever would be Lani. I did not understand the use of my real name, but I did not understand Spot Conlon, and could only accept it for what it was, cherish it, because I knew that nothing ever lasted forever. "Most goils don't have dat kind of clothes around. Our muddah knew da gypsies, knew dem bettah den she knew her own family."

"So why didn't you go as well?"

He hesitated as we reached the edge of the trees and the encampment. "Dey don't like you?" I mused, unable to keep the smile away.

"Dey like me well enough," he said defensively. "But I'm a rube, an outsider to them. She nevah was, even when me muddah was pregnant, they've always seen her as one of theirs. Why do you think she was named Esmeralda? Me muddah was an educated woman. She read Hugo, she knew of dat gypsy goil in one of his stories."

I felt my claws digging into personal, touchy things that could only rouse feelings he wanted nothing of, but my claws were embedded too deep to let go. Quietly I dared to breathe, "Why aren't you?"

"Dats how it is, Lani. Gypsy's know things we don't."

That was something I could not argue with, and its intricacies bore trouble to be doubted. Every unexplainable thing seemed to be following my footsteps lately. And some things shouldn't need an explanation. To Jack and the others I never owe justification for taking Spot's hand, gliding past the last tree and into the warmth of the fire of masquerades and beautifully unaccepted beings. The Conlon's owed us nothing, not even a word of why they had taken us to a place we so obviously did not belong to. Fighting is sometimes easier than accepting, but for once I did not fight the feeling of something so right between Spot and my hands.

Fires were bursting from the grass, people circling them and thick accents of languages I could not place making the flames higher. Tents and lanterns were strung up for convenience and out of place I stood awkwardly, not wanting to take another step further and intrude upon a tightly knit world where even the slightest imbalance could send everything toppling. The imaginary games of children were screaming through the air, secret glances were for blushing women and grinning men, stories traded for older generations; skirts swirled and hats flew beside the music.

We were never so glamorous. This intrusion was any rube looking in upon the newsies, with all our fluent slang changing from day to day, with every scar and tap dance around the forbidden, with every secret longing look, nudge, and touch; I never realized how delicate our world was. An outsider would be a bull through a china shop, not understanding the relations of the Conlon's and their troubles, the inconvenient romances, the stories dark and light, an invisible relationship between every newsie in New York. I had adjusted easily (no matter how difficult it was) compared to the hell I would have put up with. I did not want to move and intrude upon something so spectacular and something I could never understand, because they had colored perfumes and swirling skirts, bright lights and glowing fires.

"Sometimes it's alright to be looking in," Spot said and gooseflesh broke around my neck, not from his warm breath or the knowledge of how close he was, but for the way he had read my mind. I looked up, confused, and he smiled down with every answer I never needed. "I know the female mind. I'se round Camelot too much."

Camelot had wandered off before we emerged from the trees, Racetrack with her, and I was not sure if he knew that and tried not to betray it with his excellent understanding of the female mind. "I trust da gypsies. Da only one I'd be worried bout is Racetrack."

"If he's away from you I think he'll be just fine," I teased and his lips twitched but the smile never came, worry tinting light eyes, memories too raw to repeat lingering in the dark circles beneath his eyes. Tip toes let me kiss his cheek. "Racetrack isn't exactly dangerous, Spot."

"We can all be dangerous when pushed to the limit."

Can't argue with that. "So he'll protect her if anything bad ever happens. Besides, if he hurts her, you know weah he sleeps."

This notion was comforting but disturbing to me. The others' quiet let me know they heard him, and heard him well. They were just as misplaced as I was, even the ever so confident Jack Kelly.

He pulled me away when he remembered the others. With no destination and no need of one we wandered, feet quiet in the noise, hostile and curious stares following us and from more than just the gypsies. I could not help but to argue when he slipped an arm around my waist. "Is dat yer defiance doing it or do you actually want to?"

"Its yer thing to be defiant, Lani. It's mine to proudly show wads mine."

"I ain't yers, Conlon," I grumbled, taking a step away, knowing both had too many doses of head-strong. "So its yer possessiveness den?"

"Lani," he began sternly, a frown creasing his pouting lips and knitting thin eyebrows. I stepped around him in a dangerous dance but an arm snaked around my waist, pulling me towards him until I stared up into those dangerous eyes, eyes that could make my heart freeze and burn with one glance. His hands were tight on my upper arm; fingers that could make me tremble with his caress. "Not everything needs a rhyme and a reason."

I did not want to start a fight on a night that could be so perfect but I could not help but hang my head and bitterly say, "Wid you it does."

"Wad da hell does dat mean?" he growled low and dangerous and his hands tightened, shooting tiny pricks through my veins.

"I don't like being used, Spot. You don't know how hard it is knowing dat your cold as ice, knowing dat because of you and your leadahship all yer doing is dragging round anuddah helpless goil fer show. Its bettah fer you now, seeing how bad I act and how 'strong' I was, knowing I'm Manhattans newsgoil. It gives ya a lot of satisfaction seeing their faces when ya throw dat arm around me, don't it?"

"No, Lani, you don't know hard it is," he hissed, no other words able to seep through a voice silent seconds after I had finished. His hands tightened on my arms out of anger and he softened as he saw my wince, releasing me. "I can't touch ya right now or I'se scared I'se gonna slap ya."

He moved closer until he towered above, his eyes like the lightening after the thunder of my words. I tried not to show my submission, tried defiance, tried to be anything but broken and frightened. "Don't you judge me when you don't know wads running through me mind."

"It's always da same, Spot. I hoid da stories, I know exactly wad ya tell everyone. Yer Spot Conlon, womanizer extraordinaire, and proud of it." I wasn't angry anymore. I was just so fucking tired.

"And dey says yer crazy, dangerous, appearing out of nowhere and turning our woild upside down, a mystery dat can't be solved. Den dey say yer as cold as ice and as soft as snow. Dey give ya title as a whore just because you won't act like da rest of dem. Dey pretend yer some enigma or a dream dat can't hoit dem. But none of dat is who ya are."

He was left breathless and panting and I was left broken and confused, with every emotion lying vulnerably at my feet. I stared up at him, not knowing what to say, just staring. The words were truer than anything I've ever heard and the image of Spot and what I had seen were beginning to deviate and fight for control of my mind. Judgments were artificial. I did not know what was going through his mind just like he had no idea what was racing through mine.

Angrily I whispered, "Who am I, Spot?"

He stared at me with everything I'd never be able to place. "I'm not sure."

I could not be sure but I thought I saw the confusion and vulnerability I felt reflected in him. I could feel his anger emanating like sparks, and I could see the controlled rage in his eyes. Voices shouted and he looked away, seeing figures coming towards us, and looked back for the last time with anger that broke my heart and simultaneously strengthened me.

The wrinkles and lines in their faces were etched with secrets and stories, laugh creases and sparkling light eyes lightening severe faces; they were soft but I knew when faced with toils and threats they could become harder than steel. They were newly old, the woman's pale hair hinting at silver, the man's hair receding, yet young enough to see excitement and vibrancy in their ashy complexions. Spot's twisted irate face broke as they stepped into the fire's light, a brilliant grin suppressing the argument I had begun. I stepped back out of place and out of sight.

"Dimitri," the woman laughed, her voice smooth but thick with accents I could not place. He took a sweeping comical bow and kissed her hand, embracing her affectionately and doing likewise with the man but even as he drew away she could not stop fingering his face, unable to accept that he was flesh and living.

"Elvira, your beauty grows with the seasons," he complimented and she batted his flattery playfully away.

"Oh ho! Do you see my hair turning silver?"

"Silver is the color of jewels, Madame," he assured her suavely and color tinted her tanned cheeks but she chuckled and waved it away. "Do you not tell her, Andrei?"

"Sometimes the word of a husband is nothing to a handsome young man's," he said cordially with no hostility, no jealousy, secure in a relationship that had carried them at least three decades. He smirked with none of the arrogance his position ensued but with warmth.

Elvira protested lightly, "Nonsense Andrei. He is still just a boy."

"He was never a boy." She sighed with the truth imparted in these words and awkwardly he smiled, caught between reassurance in his youth and the truth he did not dare speak of. "Still leader of those street children? Yes, yes, giving them hope and a life they could never have had. Anything bigger planned for the future? Mayor, president, hmmm?"

"He knows more about this city than the mayor," I giggled, the words slipping free before I even realized I had broken my vow of silence. Spot smiled at me, for now his anger abated and I fluttered with warmth, my stomach flip flopping, only Andrei's and Elvira's laughter and curious looks pulling me away from him. Noticing me for the first time I blushed, knowing discreetly they were looking me over, and into eyes that were stained with years of mistakes. Elvira's soft smile said she understood.

"I'se ashamed you let this poor girl stay anonymous, Dimitri," Andrei said and bowed slightly and though I was not used to it I wobbled out a courtesy.

"Trust me, she's more den capable of taking care of herself."

I nodded proudly to their chuckles. "Lani." I had to stop myself from using my real name.

"Elvira and Andrei Pruitt," she said kindly. "Is this your blushing bride, Dimitri?"

After a moment's hesitation he honestly said, "No," and stumbled to find the words to describe us. Nothing really could. We were the oddities of Brooklyn and Manhattan, not his mistress or his whore, not my one night stand. "She's my girlfriend."

I stiffened in surprise. Looking up at him he was sideways challenging me to protest to this title, but they were too busy smiling at each other to notice this not quite half-truth. The initial blush and smile at this title evaporated for the convenience of it. Andrei said, "Girlfriend, is it? The last time we heard of you the ladies said you were nigh untamable."

"It takes one to know one," he shrugged as Elvira scolded 'not to bother the boy'.

Courtesy kept questions they were yearning to ask unspoken and their politeness I would be forever thankful for, because I did not know how many questions he could answer before he was caught in a spider's deceitful web. Diverting his attention but his curiosity unable to be quenched Andrei wondered, "And your sister? I trust you have not let her be married off yet?"

"I would say Esmeralda hasn't let Esmeralda be married off yet," Spot laughed and only one who knew the stories could ever hear the tightness behind his light voice, could only understand what marriage meant to Spot and the decision that had almost cost their lives. "She's here, have you seen her yet?"

"No, not yet," Elvira replied. "And if I know her you probably have no idea where she's at."

He sighed and nodded, instinctively craning his neck to see if he could spy her. Slowly he admitted, "She's with a boy".

"Oh?" Elvira's interest was definitely sparked. "Gypsy?"

"Newsie," he corrected. "Italian, named Racetrack. It's between the years I've known him, my knowledge of the gypsy's defenses, and my sister's fists that I'm not following them. And they ran off before I had the chance."

"Yes, well I'm sure they'll be fine. I don't think Lani wants to chase after harmless love all night. Is there a future with them?"

I responded before Spot had the chance to. "Yes. Anybody can tell you they're in love."

"Lovely," Spot retorted sardonically to their brief amusement.

"I'm late," Andrei groaned as he checked a pocket watch that had fallen open. "I'm supposed to meet with Alin and the boys."

"Alin? How is he doing?"

"Do you want to ask him yourself?" he insinuated and I knew Spot was restraining his excitement.

"Go," I nudged. "I'll be fine here."

"I'm not leaving you alone."

"She won't be alone, she'll be with me," Elvira protested stubbornly, shoving Spot slightly towards a distant fire and distant men. Piercingly he stared at me and I knew if I showed any discomfort he would demand to stay with me out of pity, but I smiled reassuringly, shoving him forward.

"If you're sure," he sighed, pecking me on the forehead and rushing forward with Andrei. Well, if we're pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend might as well act the part.

She offered the crook of her arm to me and began walking in the opposite direction and feeling like a proper lady I took it, linking our arms together and swaying towards wherever she pleased. "You knew his mother?"

"Ah, yes, I was wondering if he said anything about it. We knew his mother very well, and welcomed her children once they were born." What he had said about Esmeralda rang back to me but I did not dare mention it, fearing I was being offensive. "He told you about his sister?"

"Yes," I acknowledged slowly, not entirely sure if she was speaking about what I had been thinking. "He said you knew something about her that they did not. That she has always belonged here."

"He spoke honestly. Somehow I think he understands. We love them both like our own children, but his sister is a part of us that he can never be. He's lucky not to be. Do you know her?"

"I share a room with her, but it's hard to really know a person."

She smiled, revealing a crooked tooth. "You're special, Lani, I don't know of any other who would say that."

"I don't think any other would say _that_."

"You are," she said firmly. "Hold out your hand." Nervously I did as I was told, worried she would try and read my palm and other nonsense. Something cool dropped into my waiting palm and I brought it closer to my eyes and the fire, seeing the necklace that was left there, the immaculate chain and birds nuzzling together in a colored glass worked pattern. It was cryptic and enchanting, beautiful.

"I can't accept this."

"You must. Spot's mother would have wanted you to have it."

"Look, miss, when we said we were not married we were being honest…"

"I know, I know, I know. And even if you never get married to him I'll want you to have it. His mother would have wanted it that way."

"I'm sure she would have wanted to see it go to her daughter in law."

"If she met you she would know that it belongs with you. Sometimes these charms are worth more than jewels. Now please, let an old woman sleep easy knowing you have it. I see something in you that I see in very few others. And I see the way Spot looks at you. Do not break his heart, Lani. There are few who give it to us as completely as he does to you." I tried not to protest or let the shudders of yearning overwhelm me; I longed for her words to be true. Would they be true when she learned we were never even in a relationship? Would they be true if she did not want them to be, to know that her dear Dimitri was only as lonely in this world as he had to be?

"I don't have to worry about breaking his heart, Elvira. I'm just afraid he'll break mine." Tears pooled at the unbearable truth of these words no matter how softly I had spoken them, and I tried to remain apathetic, because nothing hurts when you run away from them.

Her delicate fingers traced my cheek, almost memorizing it, wiping away the tear that had dared to escape. "A heart is a terrible thing to waste, child. I know that you are not really his girlfriend."

"I am," I said defensively but hung my head at her soul reading gaze.

"But I do know love better than most. And love you can not put a name on. I know you are afraid and I see you are fighting a war against the world, but you do not need to fight everything. I know of you," her voice lowered, hardened, light eyes no longer laughing and she was able to take my breath away in suffocation with that single soul piercing look. She did not have to speak of what she knew, because I was empty and laying everything out plain, no matter what she knew and did not it would all equal out the same. "An aged woman like me knows more about you than the newsboys you've been living with. Do you remember the night of the party? It was not so very long ago that one of my kind frightened you with her predictions and readings."

Her unguarded and honestly open eyes could not be forgotten so easily, and her voice still ran through when my mind was at its ease and most susceptible; in dreams her nonsensical kind voice threaded through like a venomous snake I could not see, painting my fear to who I tried to convince I was strong, whispering secrets into their ears. With closed eyes I had seen myself running, at a fork in the road, always taking the wrong path, always the wrong moments that would send my future spiraling into how it had been laid out. Helpless. Her words scared me more than I would ever let myself portray, but staring at Elvira now I knew she knew what ran through my mind. Her face had softened, but was still earnest and severe.

Hoarsely I wondered, "Did you send her?"

She smiled and said, "No. We don't 'send'. And if we did I would not have sent anybody half as imbalanced as she seems. She's a brilliant and talented young woman, mind. Just not so good at social skills."

"So I've noticed," I murmured to her gazing amusement. "So does dat mean 'you know my future'. And tell me, give me answers when nobody will."

"I wish I could darling. Unfortunately the future is something not spoken of so carelessly. Have you ever considered telling someone who you are?"

"Crazy delusional me?" I snorted before sighing, "It's crossed me mind."

"It could be any of them."

"But you would like me to tell Spot?" The question was rhetorical when her expression told me all. Of course she would like me to tell him, she did not know his judgments and his harsh cruelty and personally I could not blame him. He has dealt with enough shit. He did not need his façade of a girlfriend to be a sworn enemy to the newsies.

"Everyone needs forgiveness. I know Spot can lack a bit of that but I think things will be easier if he knew."

"How?" I almost laughed. "It's just some dirty little secret that means nothing. A name is just a name. I haven't hurt anyone. Being Lani is just to keep them from hating me. It will hurt him worse if he knew."

"It is separating you two. It is separating your two worlds. Secrets do that, they're a bridge that can not be broken, and the one who does not keep it always senses it. Life is about connection and that can never happen when such a secret is being kept. Mistrust hinders that connection. Besides, you never know. Maybe it will help solve the mystery your sister is making."

"No thanks lady…"

"Camelot already knows." That sharp phrase froze words that had not even been formed, slacking my jaw and widening my eyes. I wanted to protest but somehow her eyes told me that impossibilities were never that impossible.

"She would have said something…"

"You were right; it's hard to really know someone. She trusts you enough and sees the person I see within you. You have not hurt anybody. So it is your choice, not hers, whether to speak of it."

"She never said a word to me…" Despite my bitter arguments it made too much sense- all her sideways looks and careful steps around me, the soul reading gaze that always said she knew more about me than she was letting on.

"And why would she? It would only make the both of you uncomfortable. I was being petty in telling you. I admit I was using it as leverage so you would say something to Spot."

"So how did she find out?"

"I have no idea." Her smile was almost sad. "Introspection, perhaps? No matter how careful you think you are being someone can always see the truth if they're listening. I know you don't want to tell them, you probably like that separation, it keeps you from feeling to vulnerable, yes? But if you ever did want to tell someone, they'd listen, and you have become part of their family. I do not think they would turn you away."

"I'm close to a few, but most I barely say a word to. They won't want someone like me amongst them if they knew. They already don't. Even if Jack would let me stay he can't stand the glares and gossips for long. It's undermining his authority and I'm not about to do that."

"From what I heard you're very good at doing that."

"You know what I mean."

"So prove you're worthy to the rest of them. Show them you have changed." This conversation was getting a little too cliché for even my sappy tastes.

"Venice! Venice! Venice!"

Intensely I stared at Elvira, hardly able to tear my gaze away and piece two thoughts together. Finally I registered my name, silently thanked him for the intrusion, and understood Mush's familiar footsteps- pounding in a heavy rhythm, his breaths short and labored as he finally skidded to my side. Curiously he looked between us until she broke our stare and smiled pleasantly at him. "Venice, ya gotta see dis. They're dancing! The gypsy's are dancing. They're better den Medda's goils. She should see it. You should see it."

"Alright, alright," I laughed, and Mush was already pulling me away like an overzealous schoolboy. I looked back to Elvira because in Mush's excitement we had forgotten her. "Please come with us."

She seemed ready to deny the invitation; our argument had been mostly soft-spoken but it bridged us. Yet finally she lifted her skirt and matched Mush's speed even if he was willing to slow for her. Her steps were graceful and quick, quicker than mine as we pranced towards wherever Mush was taking us. "Just because I'm old it doesn't mean I can't run."

We joined our companions around the fire, their shadows leaping in the grass, reflecting in the orange embers and the flames spurted and gulped with the sensational wind. Their instruments had my own two feet tapping, watching their skirts billow, their scarf's fly with the freedom they claimed. Running from persecution their feet were still light and careless, their hope for life singing in the jangle of their bells, the twist of their bellies, the hands of the gentlemen.

His arms slipped around my waist, warm and strong as the heat of the fire glowed on my face. I knew who it was just by the way he smelled, that mix of ink, tobacco, and the river. The firelight shadowed his finest features, making his eyes deep and soulful, exotic and romantic. I settled further into his arms.

"Is dat Camelot and Racetrack?" Jack moaned and I had to stand on tip toes in Spots stiff arms to watch them skipping around the fire, naturally dancing the gypsy's dance. They were inventing their own style as they swung in each other's arm, graceful and awkward at the same time, laughing and sensual. I could feel Spot's unhappiness when his arms were slipped around her waist and she was gazing up at him with sensual eyes neither of us could see.

"Worry bout it latah," I nudged with pouting eyes, curling closer to him and reluctantly he removed his eyes, completely aware Jack was watching them like a hawk. Quietly we stayed like that, wrapped in each others arm and watching the gypsy's dance. Like nothing could hurt us. I felt it all whirling around though, all the chaos and drama, but for the moment it could not touch us. He was content, I thought- my own worries and secrets were whirling around my head but I was numb to them. I felt that bridge though, the separation I had not noticed before, and tried not to consider her ignorant words.

"Wads dis?" he asked, fingering the necklace still clutched in my hands, leaving jagged imprints in the skin.

"Just something I found." I did not want to worry him with her presumptions and associations, knowing his mind would twist it so I was expecting more than he was willing to give.

It would be too curious for me to struggle though, and so I let him lift my hands and the necklace to his eyes where he could see them in the reflections of the stars and the fire. His voice hardened a little as he repeated, "You found it?" From his tone I already knew he did not believe me.

"I found it in my hands," I said decisively, hoping he would let it pass after sensing my discomfort but he fed upon it. "Elvira gave it to me, Spot. She said you're your mother would have wanted me to have it when I tried to give it back. She knows we're not even together."

"It's hard to deceive her," he said emotionlessly, and from his final tone I knew he would not speak anymore of it. He wrapped it around my neck, struggling for a moment with the clasp before it was secure. I fingered it absently, just wishing I knew what was circulating in his mind, even to touch a single emotion out of many. I stared up at him but he was as cold as ice and as hard as stone, as strong as Hercules, and as unreadable as a coffee ruined newspaper. Her words have produced a new level of thought concerning me. Carefully I lifted his arm around my shoulder and leaned against him, waiting for the cool air that meant he had moved. He did not move from where I had put him, holding tighter, like if he let go he would fall off the earth. Lame.

**A/N-** yes, I've been in an angsty romantic mood.

**Shoutouts**

Emba- I tried to keep this chapter sort of light hearted but…it didn't really work. Gotta work on their relationship.At least dog boy can laugh now. Once again, thank you so much for reviewing and continuing with this story.

Morbidlyartistic- RENT and music equals life and RENT has music so it wins. Yep, Spotty-wotty is more than just a dog, cane up the you know what, newsboy now. Hopefully this chapter had enough cryptic messages. Haha. Thank you so, so much for reviewing. Hope this chapter did not let down.

Scratch O'Brien- Do what you want, if you don't like it go crazy with that delete button. Ah, you've been paying attention- honestly I forgot about propriety when I was writing that but lets just say the gypsies have their own way of dressing. Thank you for reading and reviewing, they keep me going with this story, and I hope this chapter was good.


	24. Chapter 24: The man in the mask

Her graceful fingers brushed his long and dark eyelash into her waiting palm, his expectant eyes following everything she looked at, everything she did, with an innocent admiration. His small hands clutched hers as he peered at what was inside, like he expected something besides what she had found near his freckled nose. She held her palm to his lips, saying, "Close your eyes. Now make a wish and blow the lash away, so you can't see it anymore."

Religiously following her directions he preformed well and dramatically, squeezing his eyes, puckering his lips, and blowing loudly. I watched the lash's progress off her flat palm, seeing it fly for a few seconds with her coos of "keep them closed" until it had fallen to the paved ground. She took away the hand she had hovering over his blue eyes and his eyes were only half-closed, opening wide when he saw her take away the hand. He looked at her other one, finding it without an eyelash, and he picked up his feet, staring at the bottom of his shoes. When he looked back up at her his head was cocked to one side like a bedazzled puppy. "It's gone." His lip trembled slightly. "My wish is gone."

"You know weah your wish is?" she questioned to his waiting mother's smiles as Camelot handled the crisis of a four year old. She poked his chest, right where his heart was. "Right there. In your heart where it can't get lost. The eyelash is just telling it to the wish wizard."

He smiled that adorable dimpled grin, blue eyes devoid of anymore tears. Eagerly he asked, "Who's the wish wizard?"

"He's a wizard that lives far, far away, which is why you had to blow hard. He has a pointy hat and a long blue robe, and his silver beard reaches the ground. Every day more lashes fly through the window waiting for him to make them true. Sometimes it takes awhile because there's so many of them and only one wizard."

"He lives far away?"

"Yep."

"As far as my Nanny?"

Conspiratorially she leaned down and gravely said, "Farther".

"Wow. That's far." She smiled and winked at the rest of us before he stood on his tip toes, looking for the great wish wizard, even if his highest hair did not quite reach her hips. Suddenly he was in the air, screeching and giggling loudly as Racetrack held him above his head. Blink pulled Camelot and me out of the way of his kicking feet as his shouts turned to laughter and passerby's smiled at the pair, forgetting for a moment that they were both just children with dirty faces, the only grown up thing about the assumed father was the look in his eyes.

"Can you see him?" Racetrack called up to the boy, who we learned was named Georgie.

"No," he giggled so Racetrack lifted him higher, the highest he could go and as "Nope" became a chant Race settled Georgie upon his shoulders and spun in a slow circle, both of them looking for the castle the Wish Wizard made out of old lashes. "But I think I see Nana. She's in Virginia. She's making her sunflowers grow."

"The Wish Wizard is just a little further up. Look at the sky tonight and maybe you'll see his castle." He held the young boy tight as some businessmen rudely brushed by, balancing him so he would not fall.

"Why?"

"Because the wishes fly up."

"Why?"

"Because you blew them."

"Oh. Why does he live far away?"

"So he can be friends with your father," Josie, his young mother, explained.

"He knows papi?"

"Of course. He's keeping him safe." She paused and to us she said, "His father is in India. In the army, was called to dispatch a year ago."

"I'm so sorry," Mush consoled, surprised or awkward silence resounding loudly. Its strange how often that phrase is said, and how often it has such little meaning, becoming just a reaction of muscles and nerves. He meant it though. "If you ever need someone to watch him you know where we live."

"Thank you so much darling," Josie sighed with a sad smile as Racetrack returned her child to her motherly arms. Seeing her now attached to a story, attached to a child, the only aged thing about her was the circles and lines beneath her eyes, a lifetime or a few years of troubles and toils engraved there. She was probably not even a year older than us; the most she could be was eighteen. "I appreciate you watching him. I had to see my sister, you know how that can be."

We all nodded even if none of us did. Attached to one brother and a life they never spoke of Camelot was the closest to understanding fragile things like family. Supposedly I should to, a ghost of a sister appearing not so long ago.

Set down from all his squirming Georgie reached his arms out for Camelot and her face glowed as she reached down and squeezed him tight. Racetrack ruffled his hair as the rest of us waved to his smiling face. Then he took his mother's hand and walked away, away from us, pointing at exciting things as we left his world with the few moments we impacted it with. I do not know what made me look at Camelot right then, impulse or some subconscious warning but the glow she had a few seconds ago was buried beneath her ashen and despaired look, her eyes filling with tears she struggled to keep back, her intensity filled with the look of being so lost and regretful she did not know what to do with herself. She was still watching where Georgie had been. Spot's words that night danced through my mind, and although I could never forget what was done to her I suddenly remembered the child that had been brutally taken. She had been so good with Georgie, but it was really just another reminder of the child she lost and there is no other greater pain than loosing a child, especially when self-damnation circulated her for not staying away from the father. I wanted to reach out but I was immobile, left to watch her fall.

Stronger arms brought her close. She melted into Racetrack's side, transfused as one but her tension set her face grim yet expressionless as the coldest and hardest stone, ill thoughts circulating above her tired face. The tears stinging her large eyes did not leak and she did not tremble and fall helplessly into the girl she tries so hard to hide. Racetrack's soft Italian murmurs seemed to frustrate her more than soothe.

"Esmeralda." He said it like a song and she just shook her head slightly.

"Let's just go."

"Rohneet," he continued her name and she pulled away from him, slowly turning to face him, her face betraying nothing.

"I just. Want. To go," she whispered like a melancholy hiss, her eyes pleading for him to concede and penetratingly he stared back at her, no jokes, and no cigars. Like me, Mush and Blink had everything yet nothing to say and nothing to stare at but each other, waiting hesitantly for permission she did not need. He knew exactly what he should do, refuse to move on, wait till she felt the plummet of stepping off the edge, wait for the first tear and any that would come after it, and drive her to that point if she would not go. Pacing at its edge, hearing the water rush beneath you, just ruined days that would've been saved.

"Let's go," he agreed, holding out his hand but I could feel his grimace even if he did not show it. We might claim we didn't know what to do, but subconsciously we always do, yet instinct over powers it all and protection and empathy for those we love rarely looses.

Blink turned around, anger brewing in his one good eye and Mush watched his sordid footsteps worriedly. With his hand on the small of my back he led me forward, but through the corner of my eye I saw her walk on, leaving his hand there. Firmly he took her hand in his, his clenched fingers reacting to her tension as she tried to pull away. I did not see the look in his eyes, but it stopped her. But I saw the look in hers. And I saw the fear that shadowed them.

"Venice," Mush whispered sharply, but he must've been watching too because I knew he turned around concernedly to stare one last time before he pushed me a little harder. We left them to the business that intrigued us, and followed Blink a few feet behind.

"Lets get off the main road," Mush suggested and I did not know if it was out of concern for Camelot or anyone that crossed her. We veered onto a street I don't think I walked on much, but I had the feeling of familiarity that confirmed I had been here, down this labyrinth of winding streets and puzzling twists that I don't think led to anywhere.

"Which road do we take?" Blink wondered, finally slowing enough to fall into place right in front of us. It had taken us to a particularly nasty crossroad. I knew him well enough to read his stance, feel his hesitance and alertness; one eye staring at everything and a million thoughts crossing his mind at how it could be trouble.

"Weah are we goin?" I inquired and Mush looked around blankly, as if he had never even thought of that.

Thoughtfully he responded, "I dunno".

"Then it doesn't really matter what road we take," I responded briskly and brushed past Blink, purposefully making my strides longer to push them into following without questions. I tried to adopt Jack's confident strides, but he could walk leisurely, knowing his boys would follow him into anything. I had to act before they had time to think, to determine where these roads would lead us, and what trouble waited at the end. Sometimes it did not matter which road we took, when what we'd meet would always be the same. Even if I were to flatter Jack with mimicking him, if he found us wandering dark streets we did not know what led to, his ego would probably be forgotten, especially after the speeches on sticking to the main roads.

I did not dare look back until Kid Blink had come beside me, a barricade for the other side of the street and it did not take long before I noticed their instinctive defensive maneuver; Mush had taken the other side of Camelot, and they were closing in behind Blink and I, Mush shifting them closer so he could be next to both Camelot and I even if we weren't in a line. I sighed exasperatedly and Mush grinned, unaware of what they had been doing but it did not make them move and I could only elbow Blink to give me a few inches breathing room.

Camelot's silence was eerie, but worse was the noise that surrounded us. We had gone far from the main roads and into the heart of the back alleys, passing at least a dozen drunks and homeless now, but the clamor from the streets engulfed us even in the heart of an empty street. Nervously I looked around, scanning for the source of the noise but finding nothing but emptiness, and an unlit building with an unlit candle in the front.

"Weahs all dat comin from?"

"Somewhere," I responded and Blink only rolled his eyes. "Dis place doesn't look haunted."

"Oh but it is," Camelot whispered and something in her voice made me slow, feel her hot breath on the back of my neck. I knew they were all staring at her like an adult staring at a toddler claiming he had just ran across the world so fast they hadn't seen him, but I was watching my feet move, telling them to keep moving on. "You wanna hear a real ghost story? A true one?"

"No," Racetrack said quickly, and from his tone I did not want to see the look on her face.

"Yeah," Mush said simultaneously, eagerly watching Camelot for entertainment, and in all seriousness.

"There were adolescents that were as close as family and everyday after school they would look for one adventure after another. They needed those adventures to break them out of their boring lives. Especially one group, always proving to each other they were the best, the bravest, the strongest. It was all a game to them. Except one day when it became more than just a game.

"You see these kids, five of them in particular, liked to believe they had more than just what they were born into. That they had a chance at a better life. Some of them believed they could change society. Some believed one day they'd be rich. Famous. They wouldn't have to look over their shoulders, watch the shadows, cause they could pay people to do that for them. Generally they were happy in their hopes and games. But if there was a happy ending this wouldn't be a ghost story, would it?"

"They didn't see what was right before them, right around them. They didn't see the danger there, in each other. Each one of them had the power to kill, some had done it before. And nobody has more of that power than when they feel threatened." I hadn't looked at her once but I felt her eyes on me, burning my neck, my soul and the heat rushed into my face. Her voice grew louder as the noise grew.

"And understand, they really did not have a future. They told each other they did, but each one of them knew that they were misfits, cast off of society, and it was their faults. They were worthless. Most should be hanged with what they've done. And some don't take to them as kindly."

"Feeling threatened people got angry, got violent. They got hurt, betrayed, and killed. And it still wasn't enough. Nothing is ever fucking enough. They wanted to control somebody to feel powerful and important, and who better to reign over than those who have nothing and nobody to stand up for them? They turned on each other then. Like animals they were scared and fought each other, unable to give up on their dreams. These people had to break them so they wouldn't rise up. Their spirit or their bones. But this is a ghost story, remember? They didn't all die but they were as good as dead, left to nothing, left to the emptiness of having to watch with soulless eyes, afraid to open their mouths because everything would come pouring out like acid. If they said anything people wouldn't believe them. And even worse, if they did. If they were believed. If they had to deal with all the 'I'm sorry's'. So they faded before their comrades eyes…"

"I get weah dis is goin," Mush suddenly snapped, rage that I had not expected in his doe eyes, a conflagration. I turned around, not even realizing I had stopped in the progress of her story, to find her watching him emotionlessly. Her expression was frightening, worse than his, even if his anger had Racetrack put out a warning hand.

"…I'm finished," she said quietly, emptily, a tear chasing nothing down her pale cheek. Heartbroken. She did not have time to pull herself together before she became the tragic Shakespearean heroine and roughly Blink grabbed my arm, hauling me ahead. Slowly Mush followed and I heard Camelot's footsteps, knowing whatever her expression was she was done crying. Not done mourning but done letting others know she was.

"Wad da hells dis?" Blink groaned, gesturing wildly ahead of us where only emptiness and the compression of noise from one side greeted our expectant faces. We all looked to the left, and down half a street.

Embellishments could not be made as we stared at something that seemed to leap away from novellas and poems, theaters and hazy dreams as they twirled with angry voices, some chanting in one language or the next, some stringing words together that none of us could hear. Paintbrushes were swiped against the buildings condemning them, the culprits atop staircases that led to nowhere, all dressed in finery or costumes, some with masks, some without, just like everyone that made up the street.

"I think we'se found da asylum," Racetrack snorted, elbowing his way to the front- two could stand abreast at the mouth of this street. "Two ta one dey try ta kill us."

"Let's turn back," Blink agreed, turning right around as if he were Jack (or me) himself.

"Let's not," Camelot disagreed calmly and stepped around us all, striding just out of arms reach. She stood still and silent, surveying the situation. "Oy! Wax!"

We craned our necks towards the few that looked up habitually but the one and only pressed his way out of the crowds and suspiciously watched us, relaxing as through the smoke in the air he realized it was Camelot. He strode proudly towards her, embracing like old friends before she pulled away and gestured towards the crowd.

"We're all here for different reasons. But it doesn't matter why we're here," he said in a thick French accent.

"Why are you here?"

"For my sister. For society. And for myself. You do know I love a good riot," he laughed, cheeks flushed with excitement and as I glanced around the faces that weren't hidden by elaborate or simple masks I saw that many wore his same happy expression, only a few alert and worried. "They closed down the theater."

"Who?" Racetrack asked incredulously- they were talking about a second hand theater along one of these roads. I knew of it, as did everybody else. It had a reputation as being controversial and inappropriate, exciting the rawest human emotions.

"Politicians. Church leaders…"

"Tightwads," she spat and he nodded, grinning at her lividness.

"So ya all dress up in masks and have a costume party?" Racetrack asked sarcastically, his way of searching for information as he chewed thoughtfully on the end of a stogie I don't know where he found.

"We're protesting. Or rioting, call it what you will. Some of us are wearing our costumes from the theater; others are dressing in finery for show. The masks aren't for masquerades, but for the masquerade we submit ourselves to day upon day. To pretending who we're not and hiding what is not so pleasant, favoring the pretty lies. We're burning them too."

The masks were staring back at me even if nobody was behind them, accusing me, and I looked away.

"Weah do I sign up?" she smirked and he took a dramatic bow.

"You're welcome to join us."

She looked towards the rest of us but before we had time to respond a man sauntered up to us, dressed in fine threads. He went beyond Wax, pointing at the closest, Racetrack. "How much do you want for those newspapers?"

"A dollar fifty," Blink said quickly, almost tripling the price and Racetrack patiently corrected him, "Fifty five cents."

Racetrack was not one to miss scams but his face conveyed more than just surprise as he exchanged the papers. Gaping we watched him retreat, more than a little envious even if we did join all our earnings evenly.

"Ya almost got a whole dollar!"

"Dere's some people I don't steal from. Homeless kids, people, newsies, and rioters. Anyone making trouble fer how things are run is my kind of guy."

"Well then I think the answer has been given," Mush shrugged, hoisting his papers and waiting for one of us to lead the way. Grumbling Blink brushed past, as the rest of us followed, suddenly quite aware of what all the noise had been.

"Hey! Look wad dere doin ta yer papes!" Mush cried, and I dodged his flailing arms to see papers buried in trash bins, papers that once belonged to Racetrack, and the distribution office before him. Their smudged ink and dull headlines peered through it all and blankly I stared, unsure of their sanity if they would spend fifty five cents to throw away the papers. Before a spark, before the incineration that devoured the World. A chain reaction burned one paper to another until the bin was alive with leaping orange, red, and yellows, some circulating around it and warming their hands, others just appreciatively staring.

"Dat ain't gonna be burning fer long folks!" Camelot shouted, pushing ahead of us all and raising her papers high above her head, waving them dramatically. "Get yer papes. Read em, burn em, I don't care wad ya do wid em. One pape a penny."

She was swarmed until we could not see her, engulfed by dramatic revolutionists. Taking her lead we diverged and before we had the chance to yell any catch phrases we were descended upon, our papers selling like hot cakes, a distribution that we had never seen before.

"Leave it to New York City to buy a newspaper just to burn it," I murmured to Mush who winked, selling his last few papers to an excited elderly man.

"I just wanna know why dey all have matches," he shrugged, hesitantly looking around and I knew he was also remembering Racetracks wise crack about insane asylums. Mad or not, they bought our papers and I had no problem with any of them.

A tight, torso, and fake sword wearing gentleman brushed past with a flimsy mask in his hand, feeding it into the fire and shouting drunkenly. "Liberation," he sang, stumbling slightly and unconsciously I took a few steps back. From a distance I watched him take a young woman in his arms and twirl around the few feet that were empty, dipping her and planting a kiss on her lips. Giggling she pushed him away, readjusting her hoop skirt.

"How long have ya been out heah?" We stumbled upon Blink's innocent question, the deviant already finding a young pretty girl to chat up with his social interests and revolutionary spirit.

"Two days now," she responded pleasantly, brushing her golden hair behind an ear and smiling shyly at him. "You know they don't start noticing anything unusual until it's in their newspapers. Or what's left of them."

He nodded eagerly, a quick flick of his wrist demanding we leave him at his art and smirking behind our hands we shuffled away, rejoining Racetrack who was watching the going ons bemusedly. His cigar was now lit, probably from one of the bins, and he gestured at the paint splashed upon the brick of the buildings, vandalism most would mind. The masquerade mask had been painted brilliantly and elaborately, but would be nothing to stare at if it weren't for the red paint splashed violently across it- no explanation was needed. Explanation was not needed for the portraits of a woman exposing her ankles or a pregnant man, signifying the double standards and repression, and even less for the explicit picture of a businessman with a suitcase of drugs creeping away from a middle class innocent person being beaten by the policemen.

"I like dat one," Racetrack smirked, reflecting just like the rest of us on how many times we had been cornered, worse than any middle class person.

Time was not kept with minutes and hours, but with masks burned and protests screamed, subdued people stopping to listen to where the street fed onto the main one that we had been escaping. Camelot, the one we had been worried about, interacted the most, going from person to person, strangers approaching her and talking about what we could never understand. Slowly I joined in this pattern, taking up paint and daring to put it on the walls, accidentally getting it on Racetrack when he tried to push me against the wet paint. I understood everything as anyone part of this world would, but I understood nothing simultaneously.

The sky began to change and we huddled closer, unsure how close was enough and how much further we could go. Tired and worn down I stood smoking a stolen cigarette, trading with Mush and Blink as we watched protesters that were beginning to burn down. Exhaustion ripped through them; in the shrillness of their voices, in their dim energy but they hadn't and wouldn't give up. A few raided the main street with enough energy to get their point across, talking to the most random people. They listened to their complaints of the closing of the second hand theater more than they did to the criticizing of our society, no matter how corrupted and deranged our leaders were. No matter how far we had to suppress our emotions, with a flimsy image of polite innocence. They should know how hard their working for nothing. They should know how many innocents die while murderers roam without retribution.

"Camelot?" Racetrack inquired worriedly and I whipped my head around, seeing her standing and alert, staring into everything and seeing nothing. I looked too, for she wouldn't alarmingly jump up from leaning tiredly against Racetrack for nothing.

"It's nothing." She shook her head like she was trying to clear it, clear some distant memory that was distorting reality. She sat back down, resuming her previous position, but her tension and stiffness was noticeable even to us.

A band in a corner had begun a tune to reenergize them and it seemed to be working. They tapped their feet and chanted in tune with the music, some even dared to move towards the street and dance with each other- an unrespectable thing. They were pushing the limits all on their own and I settled back against the wall, sleepily thankful we had sold all our newspapers and a few were still burning. It was late in the afternoon, and dark would fall in another hour, though Jack's voice would rise. Thinking along the same lines Mush suggested, "Maybe we should get goin".

"Nah, not yet," Blink waved him away, moving away from us and towards the girl he had been chatting up earlier. It didn't take his unease for us to determine he had taken her for a dance.

"We should just leave him," Racetrack smirked. "Let's dance."

She did not protest and got up, taking his hand and sweeping into the crowd, a smile playing against her eyes. I turned to Mush, shrugging, and simultaneously we said "If you can't beat em…"

He pulled me towards the mouth of the street and hands entwined we began a quick step, not quite knowing what we were doing. Somehow he still managed to stay off my feet and we moved around, ignoring people's furious shouts, smirking at the other couples and knowing the stir we were causing by such a simple act of impropriety.

"It was him!"

We swept towards Racetrack and Camelot, her nearly hysterical voice matching Racetrack's anger. His eyes blazed as he looked around, seeing nothing, turning back to her and sweeping his arms around like it was proof of something. Mush let me go and I stood blankly, absorbing their argument. "He ain't heah!"

"Racetrack, I saw him."

"You don't know wad yer seeing anymore," he snapped and she reeled back as if she had been slapped. "Yer so paranoid Swigs is coming after ya you put him before me. I'm tired of it, Esmeralda. You nevah let me get anywhere near you, yer shutting me out. I ain't Swigs, dammit!"

She took a step back, staring at him blankly but the pain was drowning out her eyes. Shaking her head she took a step back, turning around and walking briskly away. Groaning he followed her and we followed him, leaving Blink to find his own way.

"There!" Her screech stopped us. We followed her gaze, seeing a man in a mask and the tension cut through us like knives, the anger enough to kill. He took his mask off as a woman approached him, a pregnant woman.

"Dat man's like thirty," Racetrack groaned impatiently.

"It was him, it was him, it was him," she murmured like a mantra, rocking back and forth. Worriedly I watched her, fearful for her sanity- there's only so far a person can be pushed before they snap.

I stumbled forward and Kid Blink caught my hands before I got anywhere close to falling, panting from the sharp blow to the back as I had been roughly shoved. "The hell?"

"Exactly," Blink agreed, looking around for the source of the trouble but it was useless when stumbling feet and frustrated expressions made up the entirety of the street, nothing rising above the clamor that was already existing. Until low to the ground was the steady sound of a rhythmic drum and a scream that broke its beauty.

I craned my neck to see what was happening above their frightened heads but I was too short and I nudged Mush, pleading with him to tell me what was happening but he was barely tall enough and his expression was stone. Fury clouded his eyes and venomously he snapped, "Let's get out of heah".

"What's wrong?" I demanded, looking curiously towards Camelot. If she hadn't been seeing things then escape would be futile.

"Bulls," Racetrack announced quietly. He was too short to see over the crowd's heads but did not look to Mush for conformation, silently stood sullen but believing.

It happened too fast for me too comprehend; fright and anger veiled their excited faces, stiff postures prepared to fight until suddenly like a dam breaking they were all scrambling. Sobbing children were scooped up by those they did not belong to and pounding footsteps created an earthquake of disaster. I backed against the wall, bracing myself as they began running, others getting knocked over by those they just pledged their life to.

The whistle raised the hair on the back of my neck and sent a tremor through me, through us all as ducking heads allowed me to look up, to see that glimmer of silver dangling from their lips, their badges glowing in the setting golden sun. They probably believed they were archangels, sent to eliminate the world of anyone that could throw it off balance, wielding their clubs like mighty swords. I bit my lip as I saw the club come down, claiming its first victim, and suddenly that head was not a problem to see above.

Blink's sudden movement attracted me towards the tidal wave of those rushing to depart, but he was thrown viciously against the wall by two men muscling their way out towards the winding streets and back alleys. A lone man was upon the ground, struggling to get up as people rushed around and over him, his low moan audible with each man, woman, and child that stepped upon him. Her high heels were moving faster than she was, her flowing skirt behind her as she dodged the crowd, coming too close to the fallen man. He was slowly turning, trying to crawl towards the wall but he stumbled and fell and looking straight ahead she never could've seen him there. Her sharp heel dug into the side of his head, and as she pulled it out and disappeared with the rest of the crowd blood leaked from the crushing wound, his eyes beginning to fill with blood. I didn't hear myself shriek wildly but Blink's hand was around my mouth, clenched too tightly for me to struggle away. Defeated I looked down, resting my head against Blink's chest, unable to watch people fall helplessly to the ground; the stairways that didn't lead anywhere were falling, and their landing space was never empty; the trash bins were being tipped over in people's hurry and by the bulls, and their agonizing screams as skirts caught fire pierced my heart and I could not resist the temptation to cover my ears but even with them plugged up screams perforated.

"Other way," I heard Mush scream at Blink and his hand fell from my mouth but gripped my shoulder, keeping me against him and I ignored how childish and meek I felt but walked with him, opening my eyes to avoid the spreading fire. We dodged some spilled liquid, fire burning endlessly above it. But I kept my ears plugged up tight.

I knew what they were doing moving against the crowd; we had more of a chance at a safe survival if we moved against the stampede, becoming the barrier against them, and with the bulls chasing them down we could quietly move past them and out onto the empty street.

Whirring sounds of metal greeted us above our heads and I looked around for the noise, my legs still walking. I couldn't find what the alienated sound was but stumbled and fell against the brick building, shoved there by Blink as he dodged in front of me with his fists raised, taking the first swing. Cripts.

I didn't hear the whir of the air and hardly felt the impact of his punch, only reactively reeled backwards and raised a fist in retaliation. I had no time before I was doubled over, gasping for air, blindly throwing punches before I lost- my fist hooked somewhere along his jaw line before two more punches were thrown wildly at me, every fist of my retaliation blocked. I felt my knees growing weak beneath my head with enough pressure to explode, and with one more punch I was down upon the ground, scrambling to get up but with feet shooting towards my side it was impossible.

I was jerked to my feet and heard Mush whisper, "Can you walk?" I nodded, stumbling as I attempted to regain my balance, my fear hurting the most but I would not subject myself to allow him to help me do something as simple as walk. Blink was suddenly next to me and walking abreast we were able to move out of the street and onto the main one, sprinting as well as we could (ignoring every muscle, concentrating on surviving) until we were far enough away. Upon a tenant stoop we collapsed, breathing heavy, and I hadn't noticed the tears streaming down my face.

"Weah's them?" I gasped, not understanding what I was saying as I looked wildly around for the missing members of our party.

"Don't worry, Race and Cam are smaller and faster than we are. They probably got out when we got separated," Mush assured me, panting and his eyes were clouded with concern as a stream of curses reiterated from his mouth and split lip.

I turned away from him and up at Blink, feeling the remnants of something warm and sticky; the blood off his cheek was dripping upon me. There was another smaller gash upon his forehead, but then I saw his good eye swelling, a minor black eye but beginning to close.

"Jesus Ven," Kid Blink murmured. "They got you good."

Why is it that nothing ever starts hurting until someone says something? I could not identify what was throbbing and aching and shooting electric streams in my face, but could feel the throbbing of my side when I had gone down to a surge of reflexive kicks. Acutely aware that I was bleeding I put my hand up to my face and came up red handed, wet with blood.

Shoutouts

Morbidlyartistic- goshsers, i love gypsies, they should get their own story. anyway, thank you again for reviewing and i'm so glad your keeping up with this story. yeah, this chapter is a little sad and gory but it has a purpose, and there'll be brighter times. hmmm, gotta wait and see what happens with Venice and Spot.

Scratch O'Brien- oooh, irony! yeah, i giggled, i think i had to play that song a few times for that chapter. urg, i hate when stories do that, but eventually they kinda develop into their own person, even if they're just paper with letters on it (i'm not 'completely' insane). haha, i do them best for character development. once again, thank you for reviewing.


	25. Chapter 25: Waiting for Tomorrow

**Abstract Images, Chapter Twenty Five**

I watched my legs swing like a pendulum, ticking fate ever closer until it drew too close, the heels of my bare feet painfully not hitting anything but if I swung too hard I would indubitably topple off the bunk. It distracted me as I watched them, marveled at how miraculous it was that the human body is capable of so many things, while their conversation grew to only a dull howl against my throbbing head. I was resting it against the cool panes of the headboard, hoping to downgrade throbs to minor reasons why I wished I were deaf.

So few were home that the bunkroom was devoid of any life in it; rough selling forced the newsies to sell later than Jack was happy with and even in twilight I was the only one in a bunkroom that seemed so much larger now, but so much colder too. The boys that were home were downstairs or on the stairs, their angry voices a mixture of grievances. Hawk had watched us swagger in, Blink clutching to anything that would guide him (his one good eye was closing rapidly, swollen until he could barely see) and I was fighting for consciousness in Mush's arms, still able to be embarrassed by giving up my pride. Without a word he had walked out the door. Half an hour later he had returned on Jack's heels.

"Open yer eye, Venice," Ranger reiterated softly, appearing from the washroom and silently stalking towards me, with a new bowl of water to replace the old one.

"It _is _open," I whined, waving dramatically at it.

"Girly, I'se seen plenty of black eyes and I know dat yers ain't open all da way. Ya don't keep it as open as it can get, its gonna get more and more swollen until its swollen shut." Her arms were on her hips and even if upon the top bunk I towered over her there was something threatening and imposing in her. It could be the direct contrast between her white blonde hair and darker skin but I had a feeling it came from within her, and sarcastically I attempted to open my eyes wider, finding they painlessly opened. She smirked triumphantly and handed me the bowl of water.

"It's stopped bleeding," I reminded her, staring blankly at the bowl. My nose had dried up on its own in the hour I had been here, and we had ceased the bleeding from the gash in my forehead. It hurt to move my face but I managed to move it into a 'so there' expression.

"Keep it on that nasty cut on yer forehead," Ranger dictated, shuffling around the bunkroom to straighten it up. Sighing I dipped the scrap of cloth and dabbed at the cut, wincing slightly at the compression of ice cold water.

"Dat don't explain why dey went aftah Venice more den you'se bums!" Jack was shouting, his voice penetrating the door to the bunkroom.

"She's a goil, Jack!" Wolf retorted angrily and I raised my eyebrows, mockingly checking my girlish figure and half depressed half relieved he couldn't see me.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Jack spat out caustically. Neither Ranger nor I were inclined to shout at them to keep it down; she had paused and was listening curiously.

"Of course they's gonna go aftah her more. First of all, if wad deys saying is true dey were in a riot. And da men is gonna target a goil who's in a riot and is wearing trousers. It threatens dem. And two, she's an easier target because she's a goil and frankly can't fight as good as us boys can."

"I can fight just as good!" I screamed down, enjoying Rangers deliberate wince. "I was having an off day!"

She snorted and I smirked at the silence that had fallen.

"You eavesdropping Venice?"

"Yer shouting so loud its impossible not ta," Ranger retaliated for me.

"Ya should have told us den," Hawk snapped angrily and we exchanged an annoyed look.

"We can heah ya," I finally said much to her amusement and their irritation. They did not seem to know how to react however and their voices fell to a dull hush, the venom spitting out at each other rising above the din but it blended with other words like a foreign language. As close as I listened I could not distinguish any words but a steady stream of angry thoughts and reiterations.

"Wad are dey tawkin about?" I mused, rubbing medicinal leaves against my side, not accepting of their 'healing powers' but too afraid of Ranger to not use them.

She sent a look over her shoulder from where she was straightening up some of the bunks, disgusted by the bacteria that was probably crawling all over them. She adapted a masculine voice as she mocked, "Dey have no values if dey beating on goils now. But dey shouldn't have been rioting wid da strangers. It's dangerous now, especially ta be drawing attention to themselves. You should keep a bettah eye on dem Jack. I am keeping an eye on dem! Brawls are breaking out all over da city…you know dats exactly wad they're saying. Dey don't think. They just keeping talking."

"I think dey heard you," I said a little louder than I needed to be. It had fallen silent below, either that or they had trained their voices surprisingly well. I heard footsteps pacing across the floor as if they were coming from above, trembling far below so I could only imagine their vibrations. A sudden pounding of heavy feet burned into the stairs and after exchanging a quick look with Ranger I turned towards the door in anticipation, adjusting my shirt so I would be presentable.

I expected Jack, I nearly expected Mush or even momentarily blind Kid Blink, but I did not expect Racetrack Higgins to come wildly tearing through that door like the devil was on his heels. I reeled back with the force the door swung open with (he had not bothered to knock) and he stood presented before us like some beast, an animal that had been locked away and was finally released to the world, realizing it did not belong here. His suspenders dangled beside his tightly clenched fists, pants ending around immobile feet, his undershirt damp with sweat and what seemed to be blood, his hair greasy and unkempt, dark circles and a black eye surrounding his bloodshot eyes. He moved to the side, glancing around, and his eyes darted between Ranger and me wildly, looking for something I could not place.

"Race?" I asked tentatively, too startled to make a move closer to him. A few of the boys were suddenly behind him, creating a barrier, a cage. "Are you drunk?"

He started at me uncomprehendingly. "She's not heah?"

Nobody had to ask. Everybody knew as silence thickened the air between us.

"Well weah da fuck is she?" Hawk shouted, his voice cracking as he pushed past Jack to stand regally before Racetrack. He stared blankly back at him, his fist twitching and I knew he was going to strike him before he raised his hand.

"He don't know," Jack growled, pushing Racetrack aside, and his hand slipped over Race's clenched fist; something silver caught my eye before it vanished in Jack's pocket. I inhaled sharply but nobody heard. I knew why Race would have a knife in his hand, but that he would use it on an ally was beyond sanity, which from the look in his eyes I knew was beyond him right now.

"He was wid her. You said dey were together," Hawk shouted, glaring accusingly at Racetrack.

"Dey probably got separated," I put in my two-cents, feeling a responsibility to defend Racetrack. He looked at me furiously and the pure hatred in his eyes made my mouth dry. He looked away and back at Hawk.

"Look, it doesn't mattah wad happened. We gotta find her now," Jack defended him, murmuring agreeing consents of, "She probably just got lost in da riot".

Racetrack took a swaggering step towards Hawk, bloodshot eyes large and Wolf muscled his way towards Jack, both eyes trained upon Racetrack's hands. I could not decide where to look when disaster spewed everywhere. "We was getting out of dere, and when we got separated from da oddahs we just ran fer it. Dere was smoke everywhere. Dere was people screaming everywhere. I got hit, or knocked into, and I was on da ground and when I got back up she was gone."

"She probably just thought you'se were behind her and took off and when she realized you weren't and tried to find ya but couldn't. She'll show up in a few hours," Mush consoled but nobody was listening. They were staring at Racetrack; he was livid, deranged, and he spun around the room laughing before he stopped, staring at the mirror Ranger was holding in her hands. She had been holding it for me so I could clean myself off, and had been wiping the grime off of it before they came in. He stared at it intently and as quick as lighting grabbed it out of her hands and threw it against the wall. I winced as it shattered, the sound piercing and fell in an immaculate pattern around the floor. Wolf and Hawk moved to restrain him but Jack stepped in front of them, holding a hand out, a warning look in his eyes that was just as passionate as Racetrack's had been- if they came another step closer all former bonds of friendship would be forgotten and they would become the enemy. They stepped back, but the threat was still in their eyes.

Jack waited patiently but I knew he was urging Racetrack to speak. He was leaning against the wall, panting, before he looked up and straight into Jack's eyes. "She's gone. Swigs got her."

Jack growled like a beast at the murmuring that rippled through the gathering crowd, newsboys beginning to return. They fell silent and Jack stared back at Racetrack, alarm challenging his cool authority. "Wad da ya mean Racetrack?"

He seemed unable to speak and I pulled myself down from the bunk against Mush's frantic shaking of the head. "She kept saying Swigs was dere. We thought she lost her trolley but…" I waved an explanatory hand towards Racetrack who did not move, as still as death.

Everyone was cold and silent, weighting the implications until someone voiced, "Someone should get Spot".

"He's already coming," Jack proclaimed quietly, sinking to the ground beside Racetrack, ignoring the shards that littered the room. "By now he already knows."

I waited to hear him pounding through that door and racing up the stairs, expecting to see him burst through that door with flaming eyes and fly away hair, still unaware that his sister had disappeared. In every novel and in every play he would've on cue come bursting through the door. But this wasn't a penny novel or a second-hand play.

My own heart beat screamed louder than every other sound in the room for it was as still as death, and I tried not to think of death as I wrapped a string around my finger, watching the blood clot and the circulation to end, strangely fascinated. Every time I took the string away my finger would recede to its natural color, and I would start the process all over again. My glance flicked up to Spot, and I could see his fingers wrapped around some fool's throat, wondering and sure he would feel the same satisfaction I felt now. I shook my head. I knew I was not in a good state of mind when I could empathize with a serial killer.

He was standing there in the washroom, the gas lamps making him glow strangely, highlighting certain parts of his skin as the rest faded into ash. My eyes traced him up and down, thinking nothing, as I watched him wash his face. He had been out for hours, issuing orders and running an underground world I could little understand. I don't know who he had been talking to. I don't know what he had been doing. I don't know what he'd been planning. What they're all planning…I have no idea. I can only sit here quietly and patiently and wait for them to tell me to do something so I don't feel as useless.

As he walks away I watch him, still empty minded and numb. His eyes catch mine, his troubled blue eyes so dangerous tonight. He's subdued and quiet as he stalks away, leaving me with nothing. Leaving me to nothing.

Unable to take this uselessness anymore I climb out of the bunk I had been occupying; main leaders were gone so I did not have to artfully dance around them, trying not to infuriate them tonight. I silently walked towards Mush and Blink and sat down on the stairs with them. Nobody spoke but I knew they knew I was there.

"Ya should be sleeping," Mush said absently but I knew he didn't feel it.

"I should be out dere," I sighed, gesturing towards the wide, open world where newsies were scanning the streets and prominent leaders were making every contact they could. Briefly I wondered if this much fuss would be made over someone who was not the princess of Brooklyn, or a prominent character, but I shook that thought away- the newsies were as one and if one went missing, it became more than another murder or disappearance. I still wasn't sure.

Blink was glaring at me; I felt it more than anything because he couldn't open his other eye. I understood his fury when they felt they should be out there more than I should. But Jack had wanted to keep them at the lodging house, keep things running just in case enemies tried to take advantage of Manhattan's weakness. Finally he settled on murmuring, "We all should".

I could not measure this night in hours and how every minute was its own eternity, and I stayed upon the stairs with Mush and Kid Blink until the last candle had burned out. Drenched in a frosty darkness I clenched myself tighter, miserably aware of how cold it was. Every noise made me jump as paranoia forced my head to ceaselessly whip around, and discreetly I protected my neck with one of my hands.

The night was too long but the dawn seemed to come too soon, a night of extremes where the leaders came and went, every time hopeful faces were met with dour expressions. Eventually we stopped hoping and they stopped coming.

Just before the first rays of dawn tickled our tired eyes I stirred, unable to sit there silently upon the stairs anymore. The sleepless night had left me exhausted but something spurred me to movement, and quietly I stood up, stretching my legs.

"Weah are you going?" Mush demanded and I knew Blink was trying to find me in absolute darkness. It was still an hour or half of one before the sunrise began.

"I dunno," I responded honestly. "I just can't sit heah anymore."

They made a move to rise but I shook my head and once realizing they couldn't see me I protested, "No, I'll be fine. I just need to you know, get my bearings? Try to think straight?"

"Just don't go out of the lodging house," Blink approved and I murmured my consent and as quietly as I could I wandered up the stairs and onto the landing. I did not pause to think where I was going but my legs seemed to take me wherever that was, and I trusted them enough not to think, just to walk. I knew I was walking through the bunkroom before I even got there and my breath was held, hoping I would not wake those who could sleep. I should not be wandering past them now but I was in a trance and could not turn around now.

"Venice?" a soft voice inquired but I couldn't place it.

"Shhh," I soothed, not saying anything more as I slipped out of the window. The air hit me hard and I winced before I slowly became numb, still involuntarily shaking. I paused before I climbed any further, wondering if I was directly disobeying Blink. Technically I was still in the lodging house, or on its territory and that can be said as not going out of the lodging house. It didn't really matter now.

I climbed the fire escape as silently as I could, aware of how loud I was being until I finally pulled myself to the roof. I paced around, searching for that cigarette I had stolen earlier, cursing when I remembered I didn't have a match. I fingered the unlit cigarette until I still put it in my lips so it could dangle uselessly.

I was standing close to the edge, close enough to have my toes dangle off and I didn't move away immediately. It would be simple to slip off and make it seem like an accident. But I shook my head, tried to get away from those thoughts- Eloise depended on me for reasons I couldn't decipher, Spot would not have somebody to taunt endlessly when he came by, Jack couldn't have someone to ceaselessly scold. I had to make myself step away from the edge now, because it seemed all the more inviting. Briefly I imagined Camelot standing at the edge of this roof, any roof, staring down into its gaping chasms and taking that last final step. It could be what happened to her; nobody had seen Swigs but her. She might've finally literally gone over the edge.

I shook those violent thoughts away since my heart starting beating wildly and my eyes unconsciously started burning. I cursed under my breath, furious that I had allowed this to happen. I had promised with every fiber and ounce of my being that I wouldn't get so emotionally attached to anyone, I would remain secure with brambles surrounding a heart that's not worth beating, but I knew if any of the newsies (especially those I had grown close to) disappeared it would have sleepless and tearful affects.

I settled upon the edge of the lodging house, curling up into myself and hiding there, my head resting on a stretched out arm and blinking up into a sky so dark I wasn't sure there was ever really an end. Its complex beauty was overwhelming, the stars blinking down at me like a thousand whispers knowing that I'd never understand, but still trying. Stretched out there somewhere was a tomorrow and a yesterday, entwining into everything we'd never understand, and I was determined to see that tomorrow. The wind whispered ill fates as I watched a bird's pretty face.

A rattling escape and I blinked; I dozed off somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow. A kindly "yer dozin again" told me so.

"No I'm not," I said coherently but to the rest of the world it was a slurred murmur of 'noena'. I blinked and flinched, startled with finding myself here, in a perfectly normal situation. I could've sworn that I had laid down further from the road. I lifted my head off my arm, swearing loudly, wishing that the rest of me was numb but when I brushed the hair out of my eyes. I couldn't decide if it was my fingers that were biting cold or my face itself. Probably both. I winced and rested my head back on my arm, too exhausted to move.

Three days had passed since the awful occurrence; three days of dramatic bloody noses and a rise of statistics. I could not count them in hours or days but in the minutes of sleep I stole when deleterious things weren't promised or when they weren't looking, the minutes when everything stood still and legs trembled beneath me. I barely felt Kid Blink's hand on my arm, tugging me further from the edge of the sidewalk and his murmurings to urge me up were barely heard. He did not have to tell me how hazardous it was to lie down near the street, never mind to lie down out of doors at all because with this freezing weather and light clothing there was no guarantee we would ever get up, and lying down upon the street like a homeless child could mean a simple target, or an illusion of another corpse littering the street. No one wants to know what they do with bodies.

"Tired?" Blink mocked and I counted the circles beneath his eyes. The swelling had gone down and the bruise had receded but there was still a lingering sensation that it had been there, once upon a time. I couldn't even get my usual cup of coffee. The nuns had gone; left without a word of where they were going- maybe not even god would send them out on the streets right now. It was dangerous even for them. Maybe it was only yesterday when one had been dragged to the ground, trampled upon, in a desperate tango for someone's life. It hadn't even been newsies, sweatshop workers if I had heard the stories right.

"Never. I'm immortal, remember?" I tried to smile at every absurdity we had created over the last few days, promises of our strength and immortality foolish children's dreams that somehow made us feel better. It did not take the fear away whenever we left the lodging house, knowing that eventually our backs would be turned, but for whatever it was it was what we had.

He did not have a chance to respond before the series of clanking that symbolized a door being unlocked reverberated. "Why do dey need so many locks?" He hushed me before they came out.

"Mr. Blink and Ms. Venice?" We nodded to her stern face and graying hair and she beckoned us in and with a helpless look we followed her silently inside, disliking the finality with which the door shut. She did not speak to us as she locked the doors, and I should've been assessing my surroundings but I could only stare at my dull shoes and eye every scuff upon the wooden floor.

"If we were rich we wouldn't have had ta stay outside," Blink whispered close to my ear.

"Dis way please," she guided us without introductions and miserably we followed her down an even colder staircase. It was too dark to see anything but feel the slippery smoothness of the railing, like a snake's skin and I inhaled sharply, moving my hand away from it as the snake rose. Its skin breathed slowly as the head curled around, its giant eyes blinking down at me and a tongue red from blood slithered through its sharp teeth. I moved back whimpering, bumping into Kid Blink. The stairs were too small to support us both but he grabbed me before I slipped, lowering me onto the next stair.

"Are you going to be okay?" Blink inquired, kneeling above me as trembling I shrunk against the wall, wondering if rats accompanied me upon this staircase and I wanted to lift my feet up but not upon that railing. Lack of sleep promised hallucinations. "You don't have to come. You can wait upstairs if you need to."

"I need to," I responded and he gave me a hand up, trying to stop me as I moved down the stairs, misinterpreting me. I needed to move on, make it to the edge of that staircase and see what was down there. Besides, I had fought furiously and loudly with Jack all morning to let me come with Blink. It would be unsympathetic to everybody else in the lodging house who had listened to us fight, and I was not about to prove to Jack how weak-minded I could be.

I was relieved when we reached the end of the staircase, but the hallway we roamed was not any less dark and I moved closer to Blink as something small and furry passed my ankle. I knew there was a rodent infestation; there were few places to escape it in the city.

"Through here," she dictated and opened the door, not following us in and handing Blink a candle. "I trust you'll find it."

She closed the door behind us and the temperature was colder than even she was. I shuddered and simultaneously we moved closer to each other, an instinctive movement for warmth and security. The candle cast a dim light as we followed the straight hall, shining the light upon the walls and we ignored the cobwebs and chipped paint or paintings whose eyes seemed to follow us. I paused before one of them, staring at the portrait of somebody undoubtedly old, rich, and famous. His eyes looked down at me, and shifted from side to side, watching it follow me. Without thinking I reached out to touch it, only moving away at Blinks bark. "Venice!" I hurried towards him, catching up and we continued to find the only door of this damp and dank hall.

For once it was not ladies first as he moved in, blocking the door from my sight and scanning it. He did not have to squint and use every ounce of light from the candle, because it was dimly lit with torches and candelabras, that much I could see from peering even around him. He cast me a last pleading look but I pushed him in gently, because I refused to turn around and go upstairs, even for his mental ease.

Goosebumps shattered my skin as I adjusted to the frigid temperature and the hair at the back of my neck rose painfully sharp.

"Over here, please. I trust you are newsies," addressed another woman, younger, softer, with fabulous long hair pulled up. We moved towards her, walking the perimeter of the room as she came to meet us.

"Yer Ellen?" Blink proposed and she nodded, smiling sadly as she looked us both over, focusing upon his eye patch and the gash in my forehead, and maybe how thin or young we are. "Yeah, we're newsies."

"Coney?"

"No, Manhattan," he corrected gently and her eyebrow rose in the lightest surprise before it fell, a placid understanding coming over her. "We're friends of Coney, and our leadah asked us to come. They got their hands full today."

"I'm sure they do," she nodded somberly, and for once I did not feel like I had to explain situations to this woman. Maybe she was not doing the bare minimum of her work either, and understood what brought them here. "You're allies, I'm assuming. Coney, Manhattan, and Brooklyn. Staten's trying to be neutral and the others you aren't really on speaking terms with?"

"Very good," Blink agreed, as surprised as I was. "You…er…do yer job thoroughly."

Sadness always traced her smile, I was coming to realize. "Yes, I try to." She beckoned us to follow her and silently we did. I kept my eyes on my feet, watching them go forward when I wanted to turn back and run, refusing to look at every table we passed. Something touched my hip, and I gasped, wanting to scream, as I saw a mutilated arm reaching out. I stepped back, horrified and hitting the other table. Blink grabbed my arm, pulling me away as I looked back over my shoulder at a lone arm dangling over the edge, everything else hidden by white.

"Here," she said quietly, stepping back as Kid Blink and I approached the table, towards the other end of the room, where everything recent came. I winced, thinking of whose child or lover these people were, disappearing so fast their loved ones probably thought they would come home in a few hours. Not realizing they'd never cross the threshold again.

She lifted the white sheet from a small body and his face greeted us as we had once seen it, back what seems ages ago at Medda's. Curly hair brushed away from his eyes, closed, but he had not closed them- someone else had. His skin was pasty and chalky, his arms like they would crumble at the lightest touch. My eyes automatically went to his chest, to his brown vest stained with something dark and putrid. The blood was dried and old but not by more than ten hours, the wound revealed through his clothes. This was one of the moments I counted by, when everything felt like time had stopped. Nothing existed as I brushed his hair back from his forehead, unable to decide who was trembling worse, Blink or me, or who was paler between the three of us. He was so damn cold.

I lifted my hand away as Blink croaked out, "Dats him". I could not step back away from the table even if I wanted to run so badly, and tears burned my eyes. Somehow it was more tragic when he was only eight. Everything I harbored sunk to my shoes and I was happy I had not eaten, or I feared it would be all over the floor, or worse.

She waited until Blink nodded and she pulled the white sheet over his nameless head, and Blink pushed me back to allow her to do so. I knew how it happened; it was no different than every other street fight. There was no order, rhyme, or reason to it, his murderer probably did not even know he existed before he killed him. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Miss Ellen?" I croaked out, trying to become heard even if it came out as a whisper. She heard me though and sympathetically nodded, gesturing for me to go on. "Dere hasn't been a girl round my age dats come in, has dere?"

"In da past three days," Blink corrected and I nodded at the specification. It was a small shot we did not want to come true.

"Are you talking about Miss Conlon?" she asked quietly. "No, she hasn't."

"Hah, you don't miss anything, do ya Miss Ellen?"

"No, I've got ears and eyes everywhere. You newsies aren't very quiet about it. I must've heard it from five different newsies."

There was relief cooling my racing heart but not enough to soothe me, as I looked at a young newsboy who did not have a chance to be anything but a body beneath a white sheet, tagged and tossed into a shared grave. Besides, it did nothing to solve the mystery of where she was- it did not mean she was even alive. All it meant was she was not here.

"Death isn't something you can escape from. It's everywhere, lurking just around the corner."

"Well we're lookin ta delay it as long as we can," Blink responded tersely.

"If it doesn't get you one way it'll get you another."

"What are you telling us to do, Miss Ellen, accept we'll die before we reach twenty and give in? Leave Camelot for the wolves?"

"No. I'm saying do everything you can to prevent it. But some people spend their whole lives fighting death, never really living, so caught up with using enough caution to keep death at bay for a little while. He gets everyone eventually. Usually in the way you were trying to save yourself. It's that kind of irony he feeds on."

"There's no he in death," Blink responded, voicing my thoughts and defeating the personification that lurked beneath beds and in the deepest shadows, a skeleton wrapped in black whose icy fingers close your eyes and he breathes on you as you take your last breath.

"Nothing is certain," she responded, her pride and her beliefs wounded. I pitied her; in an environment that dealt with death as a profession, little things help- death always needs a reason, it can not just be a mistake and a senseless action. Things are less scary once they are known, once they are named. And death is no different. "Just be careful you don't forget to live. I know it is hard to take risks and live your life when so much death threatens you. But it's possible. Even in the details."

"Come on, Jack will want us back soon," Kid Blink urged, but I was pretty sure it was just to nudge us out of there. I wanted to leave this room and everything it held behind too, as subtly as I could but understood a woman who sees death every day misses very little. She smiled empathetically and gestured towards the door, murmuring, "I'll walk you out".

I felt slightly guilty as we left the dim room for a dark hallway and a dark staircase that was not built of snakes. I still kept close to the other side of the wall, slipping my hand into Blink's for the security he offered and did not let go when we made it to the landing and its artificial lights and stern women. Waving to her we left the building, releasing each other and listening for the clack of the locks tightening behind us. I almost laughed as I heard one of those tightwads say, "We need another lock".

"Trust us, we don't wanna be coming back," I shouted, proud at how stunned they probably were. But why would we want to break into a morgue?

"Wolf's ovah dere," Blink pointed out, and I craned my head above the thickening crowd. His back was turned, but his statute was noticeable. "We shouldn't bother him right now. He's got too much ta deal wid heah."

"He's Coney too? Da boy gets around."

"When yer dealing wid wad we got yer everywhere."

As we began walking towards Manhattan, distancing ourselves from an alley and performing the motions of looking behind our backs and making sure our route was untraceable, I casually asked, "Have you seen Spot?"

"Spot, eh?" he responded nonchalantly, but the raise of his eyebrow was not so casual and I did not miss the glance he sent me. I knew what he, what everyone thought of Spot and I even if there was no us.

"I'se just askin because I haven't seen him since da night of da riot. And wid his sistah missing you'd think he'd be showing up more." 'Live your life' still echoed unwillingly in my ear, and death was a few steps ahead of him, chasing his sister. He was the closest thing I had to being truly alive. If nothing else she said was based in an ounce of truth or sanity, she is right that you never know when it is your day to die, and what you'll loose by waiting for tomorrow.

"Why? He's probably out looking for her." But his response was too sharp and he finally sighed, pulled off his cap and wiped his brow, glaring at the sun beating down. It warmed our heads while our arms were drenched in the biting air; the sun was bright but the air was cool. "He's been thrown off really bad, Venice. We thought he'd be okay dat night, you know how he lashed out at everyone. That's normal for him. That's healthy for him. It's when he doesn't react that you know he's shaken to the very core. I don't think he believes we're gonna get her back; some part does I guess, he'd have to or he'd give up by now and go on murderous tear."

"So what's he doin?"

"He's looking fer her. He's ordering people about. He's scheming who could have her and how to get her back widout making a sacrifice."

"Good."

"No, not good, because though he's doing it, it's all half-hearted. He doesn't seem to know wad to do for once, he's out of control for the first time and isn't dealing the cards. The commanding presence in him is deflating which is fucking the system up, cause people aren't reacting as well to him. He isn't planning it well. He doesn't have a plan at all. He's doing the obvious, he's doing wad every family does if someone goes missing. But it ain't good enough. Those families never get their loved ones back. They don't know wad the hells theys doing, they've got no connections, and usually end up ruining their only chance. His status, his persona, the way he thinks was gonna safe her. I wasn't worried. But I'm worried now, and I get more worried every time I see him."

"He thinks she's dead?" The words escaped my lips as a matter of fact and sounded as if a stranger so detached and dehumanized had uttered them. I was almost ashamed, and could not look at him.

"I s'pose so. He doesn't even seem to know wad to do wid himself. I can't really blame him fer falling apart, she's his sistah after all."

"Right." Although I knew how wrong it was.

I would come to know how wrong it was as the next days passed in a blur of anxiety. I saw him rarely, but he was always thinner and more exhausted every time our paths crossed. We never spoke, never even acknowledged each other but through blank and desperate stares. Whenever I tried to attract his attention he looked quickly away and I was left with every emotion lying at my feet. I picked them up whenever somebody looked, but when they were gone I did not have the energy to keep up a masquerade.

Everyday we were slipping further away. Every moment brought us closer to destruction even if none of us would admit it. Penny stories or great plays sing how tragedy allies people, brings us all closer together, but in truth it tears us further apart. Hostile looks weren't needed for me to know that we blamed each other for her disappearance, or how violent the streets were becoming. We separated into elite cliques and within those groups we stayed silent and angry.

"Raise ya two cents," Mush challenged as the game droned on and we placed our bets, our distractions. Lady Luck was being hard on me tonight, and everything I had went to the pot in the middle, a pot I would loose with this disgusting hand. A good poker player did not need a good hand to excel. I was not a good poker player.

"Lemme see yer cards," Specs whined, trying to stare at Mush's hand for the daring bet he had made, even if it would be nothing another night.

"Yeah, cause dats definitely part of da game," Mush retaliated, sitting on his cards to keep them away from his prying eyes. I had tried to sneak a look while he waved them out of his eyesight, but had only seen a flash of colors and numbers that would not make a sequence.

The small talk roared in my head and suddenly it was a moment where everything became still and I was aware of everything- of every blink, of Mush stretching, of how badly my stiff legs ached and of how the blood flowed through me. I could not sit down here any longer. Melodramatic exits were overrated and overdone, but I could hardly fight the urge to leap to my feet and throw my cards down in five pick up. I searched for any excuse out, any leave for sanity that I was loosing the longer I sat in here, suffocated by my own room and the boys that were taking up the empty space. Unceremoniously I put my cards down face up and expectantly surprised faces stared hard at my hand, as I pulled myself to my feet and wobbled unsurely towards the door, pushing it all the way open when we hadn't been allowed to close it all the way in the first place, not with the boys in my room. I heard them shouting my name but when do we ever truly hear another?

The door closed with a soft forcefulness as I slipped away from my room and past prying eyes and presumptuous stares, but I ignored how unpresentable I appeared, and tried to barricade what they thought of me from my buzzing head. I had neither drunken too much nor had hit my head recently. I left the bunkroom, attempting to steady my breathing as I calmly walked the length of the hall, and turned back again, just trying to relax and stretch from the alert poison that was terrifying me.

"Shit," I swore loudly, hopping on my stubbed toe and cursing the heavens that had dropped the cardboard box by the door. Groaning I peered at it, debating whether or not to invade the inanimate objects privacy, aware that it was somebody's and that somebody might have secrets in that three dimensional box. Yet in that case, it was their fault they left it in a seriously public place.

I recognized the folds of Camelot's skirts that had adorned her the night of the gypsy's, and the clothes that she had lent me were buried beneath as was a journal I didn't dare open. Obviously it wasn't her doing.

"Venice!" Jack barked and startled I dropped the box, spilling half of its contents into an elegant pool at my feet. Deliberately I didn't move to life it, staring pointedly at him. It was only his fault. "Wad were you doing with that?"

"It hurt me," I growled, resisting the unreasonable urge to scream, fighting for the control of my voice. His face hardened at my disrespect, and I looked away quickly, arguing internally until I stared defiantly back.

"It ain't yers, you shouldn't have been going through it."

"Well it ain't yers either! And as far as I can see, it ain't anybody's heah. It should still be in my god damn room."

Jack only reminded me of the wounds I was reopening with each syllable. "It ain't yers, and ya should've left it alone. Now go on, get on to yer room."

"Wad are her things doing heah?"

"Are you choosing to ignore me, or is just a habit?"

"Jack…" I warned and he scowled darkly at me, opening his mouth with the fullest mind to tell me off for ordering him about but just as quickly his mouth closed again. I recognized the look in his eyes, and he was searching for a confidant, and had found an unlikely one.

"Spot put it dere," he revealed in an undertone, so quiet I had to lean in close to hear him. "He got da clothes out of yer room early dis morning."

"Why?"

"Do you really have to ask? It's nothing to worry about really…" he was struggling for words and typically even attempting to protect me even once he revealed his secrets. "Spot is just getting fed up and because of that getting over dramatic."

"So he thinks she's gone now?" My voice was rising and I could not stop it. "He's packing up her things?"

"Venice," he warned but I ignored him and stared at the door I was directly in front of. I scooped up the contents of the box.

"Is he in dere?" I demanded, my voice cracking with emotion. I shouted, "Is he in dere?"

"He'll have heard you now," was his only response and the only one I needed. I yanked on the doorknob and it swung open with surprising ease, and before Jack could react I slammed the door shut, startling him enough to stare directly at me but I knew he didn't really see me. I was breathing heavily and could feel his bated breath.

"Can I help you?" he drawled nonchalantly and I dropped the box at my feet. He stared at it, searching for something to say, but however or whatever he said it wouldn't look good. For once he chose to stay silent; silence was the most effective threat. His urbane smirk moved me closer to him and impulsively I snatched the half-drained bottle from his hands and with all the strength that had been hereditarily granted to me I threw it against the wall, relief flooding me as I watched it shatter into immaculate bits. The liquid dripped like blood.

"Feel bettah?" It was a coy act to protect himself. "I would've given ya some if ya just asked."

My blood was boiling and my temperature was rising, fueled by fury as I vehemently snapped, "I don't want some. See I don't need a bottle of spirits to hide from the rest of the world. I don't need the drink to kill others."

"What are you saying?" he said in a low growl as he took the steps between us three at a time, pausing bare footed in the glass that littered the ground. Walking on glass didn't affect him and it didn't bother me either as for the first time in days we stared directly at each other and faced a truth neither of us wanted to see or admit. I could not figure if he expected me to react or not, to honestly answer or leave it as rhetorical. I didn't care much either what he wanted.

"I said what are you saying? Answer me," he shouted, deranged and loosing it further as he grabbed me by the wrists and shook me hard; I was as unresponsive as a rag doll until I tensed against him. "You don't need the drink to kill others, yer find doin it all on yer own? That right? You fucking idiot!"

"Get off me!" I shouted, attempting to struggle out of his fierce hold to no avail. My leg shot out, getting him in the shins which seemed to spark his fury and he pushed me into a wall that supported us both as he leaned into me, his hand twitching as he eyed my neck. My pulse throbbed frantically. He had my arms pinned above my head and his hips thrust into me, his piercing eyes boring further into me than I usually would allow. I read the desperation in there, and the understanding my own expression was probably what angered him further.

"Get out of heah before you get hoit."

"No," I said softly and surprised he looked at me. I couldn't really go anywhere with the hold he had on my anyways.

"Venice, do you understand? If you don't leave I am going to hurt you!"

"You're not going to hurt me."

"How do you know what I will and won't do?"

"I don't," I shrugged. "But I figure if you were going to do anything too bad you would've done it already."

He scoffed. "And if you make me angrier now do you think the past is gonna stop me?"

"No. You're right, I'm not sure. But I don't give a damn."

His eyes bore into me for a second too long before he released me so suddenly I slid down, having to catch and support myself as he turned away from me and walked a safe distance away, looking through and out the window but not really seeing anything. "I've got alcohol in my blood, Venice. People have crossed me when I'se sober and in a good mood and I've bloodied em up so bad they couldn't make it to their bunk."

I didn't know how to respond to that so I said simply, "I don't doubt it. I'm not afraid of you, Spot." Silently I couldn't help adding 'at least not like that'. Terrified maybe of every emotion and lack of control you evoke.

"Well you damn well should be." He was loosing the remaining bits of control and I watched as self-loathing and destruction consumed him until his hands were behind his head and he was staring up at the sky, grunting and groaning as his fist spontaneously slammed into the wall, followed by a stream of curses.

"Wad are you doin heah, Venice?"

"It's Manhattan."

"Can't you mind yer own damn business?"

"No, I can't," I replied honestly and took the cautious steps between us. "Spot, wad the hell is you doing?"

"I don't explain myself to anyone." He repeated this emotionlessly, like a schoolboy for the benefit of his teacher and like some useless mantra that had abandoned him long ago.

"Yer gonna have to explain ta someone why ya just stood there and let yer sistah die. Why ya fell as a leadah." I could feel his rage even when he was turned away from me and I knew how he ached to do me as much physical damage as his morals would allow. "Please, Spot. She ain't dead. You know she ain't dead. You can't do this. Yer throwing down da cards way too early. And giving up on one thing is gonna make New York give up on you." I stood on my tip toes, trying to ignore how cliché I was sounding and moving as I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder. "I can't give up on you yet. Don't let me. You're the king, remember? The king of New York. So be a king, Spot. Make a wooden horse or something."

The silence was nearly unbearable and I thought it would never end as seconds felt like hours and hours felt like eternity. Finally I felt him stiffen, finally registering my words, and finally gaining the control and the reason to respond. Wryly he said, "A wooden horse, Venice?"

"They did it in Troy. Race told me about it."

"He would," Spot snorted and moved to wrap an arm around my waist and bring me closer to him, resting his head on mine and I felt the essence of him surround me, so close I smelt the alcohol and the tobacco, the newspaper ink and the combination of every borough in New York. "Can I be in the head?"

"As long as I'm not its butt, I don't care weah you sit."

He chuckled and the sound relaxed the tension that had been straining every muscle and every tendon, and was a promise of hope, if a fragile one. We stood there silently, staring at nothing but thinking of everything, and I stopped trying to read his thoughts and predict his actions, coming to realize just how volatile and fickle people were and how easily they are lead off course.

"Wad do you think?"

Somehow I understood exactly what he meant as I responded, "I think yer sistah is alive and waiting to save herself, but hoping someone is gonna save her. I think yer newsboys respect you and while we all like seeing the human side of you spin out of you control, you're their rock, their hero and nobody wants to see you step down from that. And you won't. Things are gonna go back to normal, so we can sell widout worrying about being soaked, cause we aren't gonna have it any other way."

"I dunno wad to do, Ven. I dunno who to go to and I dunno weah ta start."

"Yes you do," I encouraged and he sighed but I knew his mind was working, even with liquor taking its hold. He sat on the bed and I sat too. I tried not to let my pride show that he was admitting vulnerability.

"All my life I spent wondering what I coulda done differently. Thinking that if I got there a second sooner things would've been different. I dunno wad could've happened if a thing changed. I dunno if I'd be alive if I made it to a street fight sooner, and then I dunno wad would happen to me newsies."

"You can't save everyone. You can try but all your gonna do is blame yourself and there's no coming back from that."

"Have you spilt blood in da past few weeks?" I stared at him dumbfounded, unsure how to react when I had no idea where he was coming from. "No, I didn't think so. So how come you had those dreams about it? You haven't let go. Yer still regretting what you could've changed."

I had absolutely no retort to that, as I had played a game of hypocrisy and had been called out on it. I felt his arm around me, resting atop my arm as he pulled me closer to him and I relaxed, leaning into him as his arms encircled mine, tracing small circles in my hand. The light faded outside as we sat still, contemplating, but not really thinking of anything. Death is as fickle as people, and one never knows when it is their day to die. And if Death took me now, I would leave with a promise that I had really been alive, even in small strokes and soundless words.

**MorbidlyArtistic**- yeah sorry about all the blood and these chapters aren't cheering up much. Hey, at least Spot and Venice don't totally hate each other anymore! Haha.. As always, I'm thrilled your still reading and reviewing this story and I can not express my appreciation for it. Thanks and I hope this chapter was alright.

**Emba-** well I updated earlier this time technically. Well yeah, Camelot's going slightly insane, but she wasn't totally delusional this time. Yup, you'll have to stay tuned for the rest of it. I'm ecstatic you are still reading this and I seriously hope your enjoying it so far, and liked this chapter despite the morbid mood. Thank you for the review!

**Scratch O'Brien**- oh no fair, i've written three chapters to your nine. I'm a theater person too, I'm listening to Bat Boy right now. I hope you liked this chapter even if it was a little depressing. Syonara!


	26. Chapter 26: Mon seulement immortel

The footsteps had been an echo in the background we forgot for something more vital, but it was upgrading to a pure nuisance, minute details that were like paper cuts, so simple and so superficial but creating a wound we couldn't ignore. They were unsteady but growing louder, pacing the hall again and again with no clear directions. Voices now accompanied the steps. It took me longer than it should to realize that I was no longer leaning against Spot, but was on my side upon the bed, his arm resting across my hips. From the night that spilled across the floor I knew it was past dark.

I rolled to my side and blinked sleepily at him and his arm molded to this sudden change, adapting to lightly holding my back. My blush was there at this spontaneous intimacy but I tried to forget it with all nonchalance.

"Had a good sleep?"

"The best in a long time. When did I fall over?"

"It depends wad time it is. Ya fell asleep probably round two hours ago."

"Did you go with me?" His unresponsiveness made me uncomfortable and I couldn't be sure but he seemed to be blushing. "Are you turning red?"

"Dats from da sun," he shrugged it off but his fib was blunt.

"So wad was the Spot Conlon doing while I burdened his presence?"

With a smirk meant to make me feel insecure and ill at ease he whispered, "Watching you sleep".

Unwilling to give in but too weak to loose I did not react, just unceremoniously chewed on the bottom of my lip.

"I wish you wouldn't do dat." His impatience and his gentleness was almost more than I could handle before he tipped us overboard, tracing a finger around my lip and softly greeting me with his own lips. Softly he pulled away and I rolled onto my back, wishing his reflexes weren't so quick so I could've crushed his hand, and fought away the sensations he could induce, tried to remember all the ways this was so wrong.

He could ignore the footsteps, could even ignore the aggravated and despairing voices as another chorus of the music of the lodging house, but he could not ignore a direct "Spot!" He looked over me as the holler shook the room and sighed, lifting himself upright before at a sudden whim pecked me on the forehead. Gracefully he climbed over me as I propped myself upright and watched him stagger to the door. Groggy and frustrated he demanded, "Wads all dis?"

He shifted with alarmed reactions to block him but in all his determination and all his glory Jack pushed past, stopping short as he saw me there. The color still rushed to my cheeks, melting my cold glare as I covered myself with a pillow even though I was perfectly decent. Internally I fought, sporadically looking everywhere, defiance and direct proof nothing had happened pulling me to stare at Jack but my own shame and his disappointment and anger had me looking at the ground again. Crimson brightened his face somewhere between embarrassment and anger as he looked between Spot and me, choosing sides and protective fury building every time he looked between us.

"Does it look like it was anything, Jack?" Spot growled, defensively standing between us but Jack sensed his impatience like a bloodhound, an excuse for it was not anything yet, but it could've been. There was only one thing at a time I could wrap my mind around and I tried to understand why Spot was choosing not to brag, as he would even if nothing had happened, and instead was denying everything he was reputed for. Simple explanations couldn't be the case and I turned away from those thoughts, knowing they were dangerous and if I chose the wrong one to believe it could possibly result in more than I was willing to pay.

"Not now," he snapped, like we had instigated the accusatory looks, but the 'we _will_ talk about this later' was evident in his voice, left unspoken but there all the same. "We'se in trouble, Spot."

"Say's who?"

"Let's say a lil' birdie told me." Uselessly I stayed upon the bed, staring at the wall as the banging persisted and I knew it was not just footsteps anymore. I recognized Mush's yelp and I heard Spec's groan as they stumbled towards the light, a scene only to emphasize Jack's emergency.

"Can we knock him out?" Specs sardonically interrupted and I stared intently at the boy flailing like it was an epileptic epidemic. The light played upon him but I did not recognize his face. I seemed to be the only one since Spot's transformation was lightening quick until he was unidentifiable with the man he had just been. He reigned over the room, casting his presence like a fallen angel, the slingshot at his side his sheath for a sword he pulled from stone. The gleam in his eyes said he could kill, and he had killed before.

The man-boy, maybe a year older than Jack, responded like those before him had. He stopped struggling to stare at Spot, his frustration replaced with a trance like fear and with the hardest look he was trembling. Forever controlled and passive Spot asked, "Wads he doin heah?"

When he raised his voice or lowered it with spitting venom it was frightening, burying an adversary alive but this emotionless machine was paralyzing and I watched him cautiously, aware from memory and reputation that he was capable of anything.

"Specs caught him in da goils' room," Jack answered, hardly touching upon what we all wanted to know, but he was too engulfed in staring at the boy like he was the dirt on his shoe that he could not wait to scrape off.

"I was in dere looking fer Venice," Specs added, saving himself from any explaining he would have to do and unceremoniously Jack glanced at me but did not need my confirmation. Involuntarily I winced at Mush's expression as he finally noticed me- my heart clenched with the betrayal screaming in his eyes, and the endless depths of fiery fury as he examined Spot's ruffled shirt, almost forgetting to restrain the boy for a clenching fist that would bring him more damage than deliver it. Like it would make it any less promiscuous, I stood up and off the bunk.

"Ya still ain't telling me wad he's doin heah," Spot said in that terrifyingly hollow tone.

"He won't tell us either," Jack replied stonily. "But I'se figuring he was looking fer something."

"Oh yeah?" Spot croaked his voice quiet and controlled, soothing and dangerous as he slowly stalked towards the boy Specs and Mush were edging into the room. He pressed against his captors, his eyes widening as Spot towered above the wiry boy. He snickered sadistically and moved away with a promise of return, snatching a half full bottle of some coarse liquid and taking noticeably large swigs as he walked back towards the nameless captive. Spot tauntingly held it in front of him, dangling freedom torturously, moving it to and fro, and his unnaturally light eyes followed the bottle.

He leaned in closer to him until I could hardly hear Spot's falsely sweet voice. "Wad was ya doin in her room, Brandy?" Nothing was pulled from his mouth and Spot made to turn around with the bottle balanced against his lips in a white- knuckled embrace. His arm lowered. The bottle flew. It whirred in the air before it cracked against his jaw with an agonizing scream and a sickening crack. Eyes flew open in horror as Brandy fell into Specs and Mush and they let him slide to the ground like he wasn't worth saving. Brandy lay there, holding his jaw, whimpering and the darkest blood I've ever seen leaked through his fingers and slithered down his jaw.

I was another paralyzed with fear and horror watching the moment play in my mind over and over again, the metallic taste of fear lingering in my mouth and tingling between my limbs, and knowing all the while I was just another who wouldn't intervene, slowly believing in justice. Spot stood there, unaware of the liquid pouring out of that bottle, raising it threateningly over Brandy's head. His lip curled into a snarl and his foot shot into Brandy's side. "Get up," he barked. "Stop staining da floors, dammit, get up!"

He remained trembling and whimpering upon the ground. His cowardice seemingly angered Spot even more. Before he had the time to deliver retribution Jack grabbed the guttersnipe and dragged him to his feet. Blood bubbled from his mouth as he spat out, "Fuck you".

The impact of the blow forced him against the doorframe, a quiet echo of the thud Spot's fist made against his softening skull. Jack seemed to glow with animosity as he threw an arm before Brandy, more symbolic than intended to save him, the hero that we weren't waiting for. "Enough."

"Somebody's gotta when da one he's cursing is too soft to."

"No, I just know when ta draw da line," Jack grumbled but Spot's skull was as thick as I hoped Brandy's was, and the words fell before they ever hit him.

"Wad was ya doin in their room, Brandaroo?" Spot mocked, tapping the bottle against his thigh as he deemed patience and compassion, but I knew the white-knuckled hold meant this was not over, even if simple answers explained everything. The ritual was disgusting, but what was worse was that nobody did anything to stop it, not even Brandy whimpering and coughing through the blood and the pain. Never once did he move to fight back. Nobody went against Spot. That control, that ultimate power got people killed, because alone we are uncontrollable. Spot sighed now, trying again, "I don't want ta have ta cut ya up".

Suddenly he was fingering a blade and I had not seen where it had been only seconds ago. A bottle in one hand, a knife in the other, the air of doom thickened the air between them as Brandy whimpered pathetically, eyeing both weapons, looking up and muttering incoherently. Spot scoffed, "God won't save ya".

I stepped through all the limitations of human nature for a disconnection we pull upon ourselves, stepping out of my shoes and my skin, out of bodily watching it; staring at the onlookers' grief stricken and horrific faces that were mixed with a sadistic pleasure and earnestness, two rights pulling Jack in every direction as he grimaced with every pulse of his heart, betraying himself and everybody who looked up to him. I noticed how I stood there so pathetically, so helplessly, with such fear and awe, counting the times he took it too far and the times I wouldn't intervene, just letting it go on and on and on. The freaks of this sideshow were only focused upon each other, intensity drawing upon them.

"I was lookin fer something," he finally murmured.

"And did you find it?" His tone would have been fatherly if he was not fingering the knife so lovingly, pressing it towards the frantic throbbing of the pulse in his neck.

"He couldn't have gotten anything, we searched him," Mush announced proudly but was silenced by his leader before Spot could turn on him too.

"You'se don't have ta take anything wid you ta know moah den ya should," Spot said coldly without ever turning from what never had a chance.

"Yeah I found it all," Brandy snickered, the sinister look in his eyes more than they could handle. They stiffened as one, but Spot's arms seemed to loosen as he knocked the bottle into his jaw again, letting it fall with a shrill shatter, miniscule pieces threatening their bare steps but an end to that threat. He groaned and slid against the doorframe, Mush's grip the only thing that kept him standing. There was no predicting how much more he'd take before he was unconscious, or to a point I don't think Spot would regret. Somewhere between their murderous faces Brandy's eyes found mine, the desperate pleads resurfacing and my heart began beating wildly as I sunk back within myself, back to hiding, back to making up excuses. I knew he was lying. I could not identify how but I knew he was bull shitting us all, and he had found nothing he was looking for, whatever it was.

"Stop it, Spot," I shouted, breaking free from the paralyzed state that held me for too long.

"Don't look," Spot cautioned softly as he moved in front of me, his alter-ego protecting me from his own destruction and dastardly deeds. I could not see what he was doing, and though Brandy's lips thinned and his color drained, his eyes still remained hauntingly upon me. I took a few cautious steps, afraid I would topple over in my dizziness, and did not realize when I had crossed the room and joined the semi circle they had formed.

I bit my lip to keep from crying as Spots knife was tracing its lines in his skin, its scratches remaining red and raw until blood seeped to the surface and gurgled over, slow torture. Impulsively I put my hand out to stay his hand, poised against Brandy's forehead. He turned to me but it was not the Spot I had known to torment me, or the one I had met as we vulnerably laid there, but a monstrosity and a spitting hatred capable of anything. A tiny gasp forced his face to soften as he stared at me, but not without anger that I knew was finally directed towards me. "He's lying. He doesn't know anything."

He shrugged me off and I saw his hand carefully navigate from the top of his nose, across his cheek, and to his ear. Nausea came over me as I stood there pale and panicked, living with what possessed them all. Spot was not looking at me, just poising the knife over him as he watched Brandy writhe on the ground, screaming as he covered his face. I would never forget those heart-breaking screams, and I almost felt the pain that was his agony, knowing I couldn't touch upon it no matter how many times a knife carved into my own skin- it was all distant memories. Listlessly Spot watched him and while his grip was loose I stole the knife by the blade, tiny cries alerting them all as pain shot up my arm, tingling and burning and promising to hurt worse once I looked at it. I didn't have to as I shoved the blade into my pocket.

Spot shouted something incoherent, or maybe I just didn't want to hear it, and expectantly held out a hand, waiting for me to obediently place a weapon of disaster into his waiting palm. If I did and if Brandy died I would be as much to blame as Spot.

"I told ya he's lying, Spot. Ya didn't have to go and do dat," I snapped, taking a step back and drawing on the anger that had been buried at the torture they were knowingly inflicting upon somebody that was just like them, surviving on the streets from day to day and gathering an army around them for protection. I knew Mush and Jack were edging nervously closer to me, prepared to be the men they were growing to be and take any hit.

"Ya don't know anything, Venice. Now give me da damn knife!" he roared, but surprisingly made no move to physically take it back.

"Stop being a coward," I hissed, tears prickling my eyes but I refused to be the weaker one and let them fall free.

He took the steps in a fluid movement until not a breath remained between us. "Wad did you just say? You think a coward can do dat?"

I hesitated as I felt the tears suddenly fall and stared into the eyes of the man I knew I loved, realizing how frightened I was yet simultaneously aware that no physical harm would befall me tonight, and how angry I was that I was willing to make every excuse for him. "Yes."

I was stunned when he did not argue as something like shame clouded him before it was immediately replaced by defensive imperiousness and an expression as open as the stones outside. Without looking away from me he demanded, "Who sent ya, Brandy?"

"I did," came the blubbering reply and Spot grimaced fiercely, squeezing his eyes in restraint before he looked again at me.

"Who sent ya Brandy?"

His reply was muffled, and I knew he was trying to stop himself but even the hands over his mouth let us hear. "Swigs. Genghis." A threatened man will admit to everything, especially one whose morals had been diminished by selfish survival and loyalty always takes a backseat to self-perseverance.

His eyes were closed now as he pressed, "Wad were dey looking fer?"

"Mon seulement immortel."

"Wad da hell does dat mean," Jack groaned.

"My only immortal," Specs translated but the puzzlement was in his voice.

"Dey told me ta bring back anything bout da goils," Brandy continued, his words broken by gasps and sobs. "I dunno wad dat meant, but I think dey wanted a journal or something."

"Dats wad my only immortal means?" Jack asked suspiciously. Something had changed in Spots expression. He stared at me frenzied and raised his hand and tucked my necklace inside my shirt before I could react.

"I was told it's a piece of jewelry."

"Is Swigs becoming a lady?" Specs smirked and there were stifled snickers but they could not override the edges of a threat from what we couldn't see, pressing for the final battle and the knowledge we did not have a chance but to watch others fall around us. The necklace burned where he had hid it, and my cheeks lit up, expecting them all to turn to me and a hundred to break in to rip the necklace from my gasping throat. I was mystified and frightened but Spot could not give me answers.

"Genghis. I dunno why he wants it. But he does. He wants it bad," Brandy sighed, admitting more than he should have and I knew there was nothing left in him to say.

His voice was commanding like he did not expect anyone to question him even in Manhattan. "Specs, find Ranger and get him into any empty room and make sure ya let him get nowhere near da bunkroom. Don't let any of da boys see Brandy. Especially da liddle ones."

"Wad if dey do? Should I make up some story?"

His eyes were steel and his voice was cold. "Don't. Don't let a single one get close. And den ya get him washed up but once da bleeding's stopped get him out of heah. Skittery and Hawk will help you. Be sure he gets out of Manhattan and he's nevah seen again. Dat right?"

Brandy nodded meekly and I knew there was nothing in him left to lie.

Quietly Specs left the room, hauling the bleeding and stumbling Brandy behind him. The door closed with a soft thud as the four of us remained, Spot still staring at me, Jack and Mush impatiently watching the both of us.

"So we're sure they got her now," Jack summarized, running a tired hand through his hair.

"Couldn't we have made him lead us to her?"

"Nah," Jack soothed Mush's anxiety. "He's not important enough ta know weah dey put her."

"We coulda held him as a hostage."

Firmly Jack responded, "Dey don't give a rats ass if he lives or dies. Ain't dat right, Spot?"

"He's right, Mush," he agreed absently, shrugging off his over shirt and crossing the minimal space between him and I. In a voice too gentle but commanding to defy he said, "Hold out your hand". He wrapped the cloth around the openly bleeding palm, the sharp pain coming over me again once I saw the blood seeping through, once I saw Spot's grimace but steely determination. The circulation was nearly gone in my hand but he tied it well enough, obviously having some experience with it. "You should have more sense than to grab a knife by its teeth."

"I wasn't really thinking about how to hold a knife right then," I replied dryly and his eyes met mine, his cool eyes burning and something crawled away inside me, some defiance as I looked away.

"I don't like dat you disobeyed me, Venice. I told ya stay put. I told ya ta give me da knife."

"I can't blindly obey you. Especially when you're wrong."

"I do wad I have to."

The desperation to make him understand was coming back to me and I looked for Jack and Mush's help before helplessly I looked back at Spot. "You didn't have to."

He took a step forward and I had to take a step back or he would run me over. The hatred, the ruthlessness, was back as he hissed, "When he looks in da mirror every day I want him to remember wad he did."

"What did he do? Follow orders without question?"

He ignored my deliberate parallel and I knew he did not believe it was the same. "Dat son of a bitch helped Swigs do wad he did ta me sistah. He advised him while he told my sistah she should stay away, trying ta get on both their sides so he'd be safe no mattah wad happened and once he thought he was safe he soaked one of my boys till dey was crawling home, nevah ta be da same aftah dat. Fer dat alone I would've cut him up, I would've killed him."

Slowly I backed away, feeling the acid eating its way through my body as it crumpled nauseously. Tears did not fall but panic followed as I turned sharply on my heel and ran to the window, thankful it was already open as I leaned my head outside and emptied my stomach of everything, every liquid, and every acid, everything I had eaten in the past few days. My burning forehead rested against the cool windowpane before comforting hands rubbed my back, holding my hair back as I vomited again. It was too much. The blood, the horror, the stories, and the guilt- the guilt for beating up a newsie to that point and living a lie, knowing that Spot had the ability to look the devil in the eye and kill, to murder for rights and reasons and my manipulative lies were enough of a reason. If there was no knife against my throat he would hate me, and I'd rather have the noose- I would have nothing left if they all turned the other cheek. I had let myself grow soft and into thinking I needed someone, and to go back meant knowing what I once had and threw away. You can not miss something if you never knew you had it, but once you make that crippling realization going back is a painful thing.

I pulled the knife out of my pocket and threw it out the window. Mush made no move to grab it, and even though we did not hear it hit the ground it was shielded in darkness now. Disgusted with throwing up but too weak to move I slid to the floor.

"I ain't a savage, any one of you'se would have done da same thing. Jack's soaked plenty fer messing wid his boys, fer doing a lot less."

"Wad do ya want me to say?" I was quiet now, and not sure if he had even heard me from the way he was watching me and the awkward silence that filled the moments.

"I want ya ta look me in da eye and tell me I couldn't have done anything else. I want ya ta say ya know I'm not a monster, not one of them."

I exhaled deeply. "I can't tell you who you are."

"Then tell me you know who I'm not." His intensity was frightening, his begs even more so but I could not say a word. Gradually he seemed to realize that there were others around and he became the cool and collected leader they knew. "You should get someone ta clean dat blood up before it stains."

I was too exhausted to respond to any of them and tired of Jacks eyes never leaving me, sick of Mush keeping a restraining hand on my shoulder. Brushing myself up I calmly stood up, a new collected woman as I tossed over my shoulder, "Figure it out".

To and fro, over and over, I traced the same spot obsessively, draining my energy into the rag at the end of my hand. It swiped across the floor, creating obscene patterns and symbols that I could not leave there. I erased them and began again, the grime sticking to the towel making me want to stand up, understanding now just what was beneath my knees.

Housewives homes were spic and span, and I knew now how they managed it alone. Finding a stiletto that did not belong to her and the scent of a woman's perfume still lingering over her own bed she cleaned to remove it; she cleaned every crook of the house as her children grew away from her, and as the youngest fell mortally ill; she cleaned as the bills grew larger and the money scarcer; she cleaned until she fell where she washed the windows, slept where she cleaned the fireplace, too drained to think about anything else when all her ill thoughts and feelings were engraved into a clean house, and finally she too was clean.

After cleaning the girl's room last night and falling asleep in the threshold, I had moved on until nothing was safe from my compulsive wrath. Now the sun baked and dried the floor I had wetted and tickled my nose until I sneezed. No more mosaic patterns from it leaking through the grime on the windows, and instead beat brutally down into this room, warming what had been so cold. I stretched my tense fingers, watching the light slit through them before I scrubbed at the dirt it had just illuminated.

I toppled onto my side, loosing balance I never had and took a seat upon the newly cleaned floor, examining my handiwork with a pride I had thought I lost. The sun was comfortable after so many days of cold, but not unbearable with my pants rolled to my knees and my sleeves rolled to my elbows so they would not be soiled anymore by the chores I had undertaken. It was lucky I had or I might never have rubbed away the dust written 'Lisolette' I probably drew little more than an hour before- it was scattered about the room, all wiped away for a fresh start. After the first couple of times the nausea in my stomach had settled until the name was an absent-minded motion of reflexes, and only evoking a sweet fondness for the name. I had always liked it, and resented forsaking it.

I sighed sweetly, smiling for everything and helped myself to my feet. Tying back my hair, for once I was not bothered when the shorter dark strands fell free and I focused on anything that had not been done, shedding the over shirt Jack had forced on me this morning. The one day I had it was the one day I did not need it. Maybe he was just handing me pleasantries after I had volunteered to stay in the lodging house today, setting his nerves for me to rest; it was not why I had done it, but it was not reasoning he needed but assurance. And if his newsgirl was safe at the lodging house under Hawk and Kloppman's supervision, his alertness could be focused on selling his papers, watching his boys without fretting, and survival.

Needlessly I brushed myself off when dirt was settled to me for security and travel. I was to be a new girl. A brand new woman that was drawing onto the age when most decent girls were to be courted and rapidly were married off, and I was to be a new collected girl with no secrets to hide or past to conceal. One without complications, one who could obediently succumb to dominance and who could lie back and think of England when it is required of me. Not to enjoy any of it, but to please a man and survive humanity. I would be a girl who shed promiscuity and listened to Jack.

A low whistle interrupted my musings and I smirked proudly, not really expecting anybody else even though whistles were identical.

"Jiminy, I can't remember if I've ever seen this place clean," he exhaled and I nodded proudly at my handiwork, shrugging as if it was nothing and hid my fingertips and the blisters that adorned them.

"I think we need a new memory," I shrugged even if by tonight clothes would be tossed everywhere, and by next week a new layer of filth would garnish it. "And I'll be needing a hat."

"So it's a bribe, is that it?" Amusement littered his mock anger and I tossed a mischievous smile over my shoulder, catching his eye. My heart leaped upon seeing him, rarely noticing him this way- with his golden hair getting into his eyes, his suspenders hanging unceremoniously beside a slingshot nearly falling out of his pocket, and a sweet and serene smile upon his face, lighting up his dancing blue eyes. Jack's promise had carried through to later that night, and easily I shed his lectures and warnings, his threats and sermons. Finding a boy attractive wouldn't lead to a life of destitution and shame.

"Of course not, that would be wrong. They'll just feel too guilty not to get me one after they see the bunkroom," I shrugged, as if this manipulation was any better instead of much worse. He laughed, the sound making my heart skip a beat, and I could not help but to smile. He still looked thin, but better than yesterday, and as I scrutinized him he looked me up and down, noticing the rolled up pants and sleeves, seeing more of my skin than I should allow. I was not uncomfortable though and defiantly left them how they were.

"That isn't my hat in your bag, is it?" I asked, pretending to be hopeful when I just was being felinely curious.

He lifted it up, showing me like I had not seen it before and said, "I brought lunch."

"Out," I demanded, pointing away from the bunkroom and he looked surprised before comprehending my annoyed finger.

"Oh come on, Venice," he sighed in exasperation. "I ain't gonna get crumbs anywhere."

"Do you know how long I've been cleaning?" I challenged through glaring eyes and he sighed, but did not give in. He moved further into the room and pulled two spare newspapers from one of the boys' beds. He waved them smugly and sauntered towards me, spreading out the papers a few feet away.

"I don't think Roosevelt will mind," Spot shrugged as he put down the bag over his face shown on page three.

"It depends what's in there." I could not deny my hunger as I felt it painfully for the first time today. It was an everlasting shadow, an uncomfortable throb but now I felt my stomach cramping up and yearning for whatever he had brought. Besides, my maternal side could make sure he ate.

Carefully he laid out a wrapped hot dog and sandwich, two apples, and a bottle of some dark liquid I suspected as being coffee. My stomach ached at the sight of this feast and I tried not to show my appreciation or look too adoringly at him; even if I had ventured outside, my meager earnings would not produce half as much.

I settled myself beside him, hearing the rustling of newspapers until I got comfortably settled, sitting cross legged and very unladylike. He shook his head fondly and mimicked my position, handing me a sandwich bursting with lettuce, meat, and cheese. I raised my eyebrow as I took it, suspiciously asking, "Are you trying to poison me?"

"No. But if I was, why would I tell ya the truth?"

I chortled, savoring the first few bites and wondering how long it had been since I had anything that resembled a meal. Soon I was devouring it, ignoring Spots chuckles as he destroyed his own lunch, and I could only be thankful I wasn't restrained by corsets and society and could actually eat when I was hungry, instead of worrying about becoming so fat I would not look nonexistent.

Small talk of the day's anecdotes (like Racetrack slipping in the mud around the distribution office) and passionate talk of a new play Medda was hosting evaporated any awkwardness that might have ensued. However, as I was finishing off the last swig of warm coffee I watched him with one eye, watched how both of his were entrained on my chest. I set the bottle down and crossed my arms, glaring fiercely at him for making me blush so hard, remembering how he could have seen everything the other night.

"No Venice," he said soothingly, patiently and he reached out a graceful arm, warningly glaring as I batted it away until I finally sighed and dropped my barricade. Surprisingly he reached for my neck and tugged at the necklace that was there, bringing it out to shine in the afternoon sunlight. The colored glass spun and created patterns on the floor with the sunlight and I stared at the strange symbols I had noticed the night before. It warmed in his hand as he stared at it, before letting it drop and rest gently against my chest. "Leave it. When you're alone or with me, keep it out."

I fingered it thoughtfully. "I thought you wanted it back."

"When did I ever say that?" His glance was sharp, proving how far my misconception was.

"When Elvira gave it to me."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Exactly," I retorted, finally impressing my thoughts and silencing his. "You were so final and quiet about it all. You seemed angry."

"Don't try to figure me out, it won't work," he said, closing off again before he seemed to check himself. "What do you want from me, Venice? I didn't expect it, alright. You threw me off guard."

I wanted to press him further but I was terrified where that conversation would go; she had said his mother would want me to have it, and if he knew that, knew what Elvira saw and said, every emotion he beat down, whatever it was, would resurface for a truth he could not handle. If it was the truth at all.

"Well I'm sorry for doing that," I said quietly but he fingered my chin, lifting it with one finger.

"Don't be." His seriousness frightened me and I pulled away, fingering the necklace, letting it remain outside my clothes.

"Spot, why does Genghis want this?" I finally bluntly blurted and he was not watching me, but how the colored glass played upon the ground, and I knew he had heard me.

"I'm trying to figure it out. Right now I don't have all the answers," he said slowly, thoughts forming in his mind as he spoke but right now would not speak them. "It might be just symbolic for him. He's a mad man, and not everything a mad man does makes sense. He might just want it for the history behind it."

"Yeah? Do you believe that?" I whispered, leaning in closer to him until he could not break from my steady gaze.

His mouth was dry but he managed, "No".

"Then how do you expect me to?"

His smile was weak as he murmured, "You're like nothing I've ever seen before, Venice. Just do me a favor and until we figure it out, make sure nobody knows you have it."

"Do the boys know what it is?"

"I can't tell you that but I wouldn't think so. Jack might know something though. I'm never sure what's running through that boy's mind."

I nodded, pausing for thoughtful silence before impulsively I patted his thigh and said, "C'mon".

"Where?"

"Right here," I said shrewdly and pushed him off the newspaper, rolling everything into it and making a mental note to take it outside later. I scooped up a rag and made my way towards the further corner, one I had not touched yet and had been my target before Spot had came. I pushed a crate that served as a chair aside, staring forcefully at Spot as he remained where he had been. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a smile, he was just there to observe. I pressured, "C'mon".

He looked around as if he expected somebody else to suddenly be there. "Yes you."

"Why?" he inquired as he sauntered towards me, getting a mischievous glint in his eye.

"You ain't royalty Spot. King of New York or not you can still help clean up. Half of dis is probably yer mess."

"I'm Brooklyn, smarty."

"And ya free-load ovah heah enough," I challenged, my smile softening playful words.

"Actually, I think I'm gonna have ta watch ya clean up foist. Make sure ya bend down and get da corners."

I tired to hide my blush before I swatted his arm and threw a rag at him. He yelped as it hit his face. "Do you know weah dat has been?"

"Find out," I grinned, taking my own wet piece of cloth and dragging it across the floor, waiting for him to do the same. Sighing, he rolled up his sleeves and started pressuring the floor and wiping the grime that had collected there. Nearly done with my corner already I watched him for a moment before I crawled over to him and put my hand over his. He seemed startled, tense and ready to push me away.

"Relax," I soothed into his ear, making long up and down swipes, pressuring in all the right places to maximize the effort. He seemed ready to throw me off at first before he got used to the gentle motions and gracefully moved his own hands without much guidance from me.

Minutes passed in quiet bliss and subtle looks that no one sees. He laughed as we made figure eights in the dirt, somehow still cleaning it all up. "And dis is wad women complain about doing all day?"

I raised an eyebrow. He didn't notice. Sighing, feeling the first traces of exhaustion, I took his wrist and his surprised eyes jumped to mine. I placed my hand in his, both of us palm up, and stretched my fingers for him to see. His eyebrows knitted, my bandaged hand holding his, as he studied the other hand with the blisters on three of my finger tips and the enormous one on most of my palm, gently tracing it and noticing my grimace. Tiny nicks lined other places of my hand, cuts in between my fingers and dried blood sticking to the rawness of opened skin. "I'm exhausted Spot. I've been rubbing cloth for nine hours, picking up clothes and broken things, running errands and fixing what I could. That's nine hours of moving around and inta positions you're not supposed to be capable of, rubbing so hard your arms don't move after an hour. All the while knowing dat it'll be dirtier den it was a week from now and you'll have to start again, still knowing dat few will really appreciate you for it. I'm lucky, I'm not married and I don't have children. While I had ta patch up a few pants I found on da floor I don't have little ones running in fer me every minute, crying cause dis one pushed dat one or they're hungry, feeling guilty cause I can't get enough food. And with da way you guys woik I'd be pregnant again. Try cleaning dis place wid thirty extra pounds on you."

He seemed stunned and incapable of speaking for a moment, fully absorbing my words and as he sat there I took the rag and finished up the spot he had neglected. His hands covered mine, taking the rag from me as he stared at me hard. "I nevah said dat a woman's job wasn't as tough as a man's, maybe even tougher. Why do you think men respect their mamas so much?"

"You said 'dis is wad women complain about doing all day?'" I groaned in an overly masculine voice.

He mimicked my tone, "I don't really sound like dat, do I?" He returned to normal as he said, "I was just playing".

I nodded, accepting this for an apology.

"Do you want it?"

"Pardon?" I had gone back to rubbing at the last remnants of dirt. Once again he stopped me.

"Is that what you want? To have lots of babies and take care of dem and yer home?"

I sighed, settling once again into sitting as I stared at the floor, hoping that the lines and dents would give me the answers. Images and dreams swirled through my head as I finally realized I had never thought about it before. "To be honest, I never thought I'd live dat long. By twelve I was sure I'd be gone and every year I tell myself I'm going to be dead the next. But I'm not dead yet."

"No, you're far from it. Don't get me wrong, death knocks at all our doors but I don't think it's gonna catch you for a long, long time."

"Maybe," I nodded, beginning to think about that, and realizing I didn't want to think. Living longer than adolescence meant finding all those things growing up tells me I must have- a husband, a home, a steady income. It was never finding those things that terrified me.

"Do you want to live?"

"What?" I laughed until I realized he was deathly serious. I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say. "I don't know, Spot. There are days when I'm not sure. But there's something about being a newsgirl that makes me want to hold on a little longer."

"Good," he nodded, smiling sincerely before I returned the question. "Sometimes I couldn't care if I lived or died. But there are more times when I look out my window and see the sunset or the stars, or I watch one of my boys have their first girlfriend, or the younger ones their first crush. Even when someone who nevah wins at poker gets a good hand. Those are moments I don't want to miss and they ground me I guess. And whenever I feel like I'm about to jump off a bridge I remember I've got responsibilities I can't run away from. I gotta keep going for my boys, they're counting on me. And my sister, gotta keep living fer her."

"She looks up to you," I added quietly, the mention of his sister panging deeply. It was the first time we had mentioned her since the night before.

"She does. I gotta keep going, Venice. And I wouldn't want to miss this."

"What?"

"The conversation we're having right now. I wouldn't want to miss you." I met his gaze steadily. "I keep thinking if I gave into a fight a month ago, I would nevah have met you."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Spot?" I said playfully, but I was not being playful, not at all; his sweet talking romances were dangerous, and I felt the warning signs all around me.

He smirked as well but did not say anything more. "Do you remember the night at Medda's, when we first really kissed?"

"No," I said casually but his grip on my wrist told me he was not joking.

"I know why you cried now. Because for the first time you didn't feel dead inside."

I looked away sharply, unsure why I was now restraining tears but this uncertainty I was too familiar with. I dug my nails into my legs, trying to steady myself but his implications were too much for a smitten heart to live with. His aggravations and attacks were dangerous, but his flirtations, his sweet romances were fatal and would just increase the bitterness when he turned on me again.

"Jack!"

He grimaced, a mantra under his breath of 'not now, not now, go away'.

I hissed, "Sorry dey interrupted you'se trying ta get me in bed".

His lips shoved upon mine but were gone before I had time to react. "Shut up. I wasn't trying ta fuck you."

"Jack!"

He groaned, sent me a last annoyed look that was slowly softening. "In da bunkroom!"

"You ain't Jack," Snipeshooter proclaimed as he skidded into the room, doubling over, out of breath.

"Thank god fer dat," Spot mumbled. "He ain't heah, Snipe."

"Oh," he replied, seeming lost for a minute. Snoddy appeared behind him suddenly, and cuffed the boy in the back of the head.

"Yer even betta. Come downstairs, quick." He had the flush of excitement and anger on his face as he beckoned him down the stairs, already turning to run out.

"Wad is goin on heah?" Spot demanded, standing up and controlling their immature blubbering's.

"Camelot," Snipe threw over his shoulder before he raced after Snoddy like an ever present shadow, and their thudding footsteps made it to the bottom of the stairs before he reacted. The name seemed to numb us both for a moment before he reacted and yanked me to my feet, practically dragging me out the room. He didn't run as we left the room, because neither of us was too sure what we would find.

We tripped and stumbled down the stairs, trying to remain on the same one and ending up just tripping over each other and barely making it to the ground floor without bloody bruises.

Kloppman's desk became a vital support system as he clutched it, loosing his balance while standing erect, swooning and I did not have to watch the color drain from his face for my own blood to boil.

The intensity in her eyes had diminished into the lightest pulses of life, swallowed by despairing shadows and the clots of blood that surrounded one of her eyes, the swollen eye completely black. There was no dirt on her face, the spot on her jaw just a bruise, her cheek freshly kissed with nicks and raw skin, a gash on her forehead still bloody and her lips busted. She seemed to have come straight out of hell, the heroine in epic novels after some great sacrifice, lingering between half-life and death.

He moved in a flash and I could not look the rest of her over before she was thoroughly enveloped in Spot's arms. My heart contracted painfully, knowing where Spots head rested atop hers he was crying. I knew it was her whimpering amongst his congested murmurs, for he was squeezing her enough to unintentionally lift her off the ground and if her face was that beaten up the rest of her was probably worse. I didn't want to interrupt this happy and sorrowful reunion and thankfully Hawk laid enough pressure on Spots arm for him to release her and set her safely upon the ground, still holding her, still tearing.

After a few moments he drew away, his cheeks wet and his eyes red rimmed, his arms still wrapped around her. She seemed stunned at the welcome, in a dazed happiness as she attempted a smile though I knew how much the slight movement pained her. Somehow she did not seem frightened at the look on his face, the demons in his eyes that had terrified me last night; I thought he could not look anymore capable of torture and murder, but the hatred in there could not be handled for the squeamish.

"Who did this?" he hissed and her lip trembled as her gaze fell to the floor. "Esmeralda, who did this?"

"I did," she said quietly and he did not have time to be mystified.

His voice rose, "Who did this?"

Her voice shook. "You know."

"I want you to tell me every one who was there, who touched you."

She gasped, tears falling against the raw skin, just that much enough to make her cringe in pain.

"C'mon baby, it was Swigs, wasn't it?" Hawk pressed and she looked despairingly at us.

"Let her rest."

"Was it just him…?"

"Let her rest," I repeated, my voice rising as I pushed past Snoddy and Snipeshooter and I did not regret interrupting when she looked at me thankfully. "You can bully her latah."

"She needs to rest," Spot agreed, as if it had been his idea and Camelot smiled fondly.

"Can you walk?" I asked, looking her over and wondering just how she had managed to escape.

She shrugged and attempted a step and from that one movement I noticed her limp. Spot shushed her protests as he lifted her into his arms, proving a strength I was not sure he had, as I led the way up the stairs and into one of the few rooms.

"This isn't here," she said incoherently and struggled slightly as Spot kept walking towards the spare bunk.

"Isn't where?"

"My room."

"It's gonna be too loud wid da boys right outside."

She shook her head, desperately looked to me and I met her gaze. "Spot, just take her to our room."

Grumbling he finally consented and we made the journey through the bunkroom and with pleasure I noticed her eyes widen as she took in its cleanly state. "Venice did it today."

After he had laid her upon her mattress and stolen a few pillows to prop her up he stood above expectantly and watchfully, although uselessly wanting to know what to do next. I stared at him meaningfully and he opened his arms in a universal gesture for helplessness.

"Go," I emphasized and he shook his head, scowling at me.

"No."

"Go."

"No."

I groaned, almost positive I heard Camelot snicker. "Stop being stubborn."

"Stop being stupid."

"I can't help it, yer rubbing it off on me."

"You're crazy. I ain't leaving my sistah. Nevah, uh-uh."

We both stared at her as she groaned, smiling innocently and I noticed the gap in her smile making her appear years younger.

"Just get out of heah, Spot. I need to clean her up some. I promise I'll bring ya back as soon as I'm done."

"Please?" she added and he stared hard at her before he threw up his hands in defeat.

"Get bettah, kid," he ordered before he waltzed out of the room, grumpy and quietly furious.

"And tell Snoddy ta go find Ranger," I called behind him before I pushed the door closed gently, pushing a chair under the knob.

"Jesus Christ," I said beneath my breath as I finally got a good look at her, the weight of this finally burdening me. I mimicked Spot, reaching over and sitting beside her and enveloping her in my arms, my cheeks as wet as hers were. Attachments were strange things, and they can not happen with just anybody- a girl I have known for weeks has become closer to me than my family in an entirety of eleven years, and more my sister than I knew how to express.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I thought you and Race had gotten away, we wouldn't have left…"

"I know, I know. Don't be sorry," she mumbled, and I knew she held me at no blame. I nodded, moving away and wiping the tears from my eyes.

A/N- sooooo...been another month and a half. bad news: i've gotten more of a social life and my mom's always working on the computer. good news: i've got two more chapters written that i just have to edit! so it equals out.

Emba- yeah, insanity's saying hello but there's always a limit on how much a person can take before they snap. Anyway, losing your mind temporarily doesn't mean that it can never be found again, especially if there's the girl involved. Hah. Nah, I couldn't kill Camelot, not yet anyway, a little too much for them to recover from. You know the old saying, things get worse before they get better. Yes, sorry this chapter was mildly gory but it had to be done. Venice pulled Spot out of it though. Thank you for putting up with my months of not posting anything and I really hope you like this chapter.

MorbidlyArtistic- I'm thrilled you liked that line; those small sentences sometimes make me want to keep writing, anything that speaks to somebody. As you can see, the pep talk for the night wasn't quite over, Spot's a thick headed kid. I'm trying to put more of their deep interaction in, I hope I'm not overdoing it. Cha me too, at that scene I was ready to pack my bags and move to the Irish Hills. Anyhoo, thank you infinity times for keeping with this story and continuing to review. Hopefully this chapter was up to standards. Thanks again.

Scratch O'Brien- Thespians are becoming a cult, and definitely a massive superhero (sorry, saw Spiderman 3 last night. Amazing!) Yes, all that cliché peace and happy stuff. Cause happy is good. Our school's Bat Boy was alright, nothing compared to some of them out there cause we lack…funds, space, good teachers, etc. About that hurrying thing…yeah, didn't work, but I've got two chapters written so all I have to do is edit them. Thank you muchos for reviewing and reading, and I really hope you liked this chapter, despite the wait.

Beachgal- woo hoo new reviewer! Thank you, and sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoyed and continue with this story.


	27. Chapter 27: Sensory Overload

**Abstract Images- Chapter twenty seven**

**Sensory Overload **

Feet slapped against the pavement, inducing a fight between time and fate and everything that dictated the impossibility of overcoming what pursued them. The two boys scrambled simultaneously through a clothesline inconveniently low, the fabric weighing it down, and one noticeably urged the other on. Anyone who lives around illness can identify the dark circles and discoloration that meant he had not quite recovered from influenza, and the exertion might cost them more than they were willing to give. No choice, no chance, as they rounded nearly just below us, the fire escape giving us a first hand view, three more men tearing through the clothesline and pulling half to the ground. The quarry was quick enough to take advantage of the moment's hindrance, and before I had time to memorize their features they were gone, around the bend, the sound of the chase becoming lost in the rapid roar. A man was shouting louder than their footsteps, demanding that a carriage stop, and somewhere a woman was screaming as a child's crying entered the world for the first time. Time was a frequent motion, celebrating life and ending it, beginning it again and changing it.

I was as insignificant as anybody else was, for once on the same level as all those who encompassed this great city. It was strange to remember that the worries that burdened us most were nonexistent to somebody else. Neighbors knew nothing of the boys that were stumbling into the lodging house, broken and bleeding.

"Are you thinking again?" Wolf moaned, tapping me on the head with the beat he put his cigarette out and I scowled up at him without a rebuttal.

"You could've helped them," I accused, turning my eyes back towards the empty street. They had been gone a long time now, even if barely twenty seconds passed from their first appearance.

"So could've you," he pointed out calmly and I stared up at him, glaring not so much out of his arguments but because he was right and silently I berated myself. They had been strangers to me and to all I knew, and I had left them for somebody else to care for rather than risk myself.

"I couldn't have helped them on my own," I murmured.

"No," he said slowly and I was waiting for the 'but' for the errors which I had made but he didn't continue. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You want to say something else." I was being petty when he was going to the extra lengths to not allow me to burden and blame myself.

"No Venice, no I don't," he sighed tiredly and although I knew something lurked beneath his momentary civil tongue he didn't grant me time to search for it because he turned to Ranger and said, "I don't think she's home".

It had been three minutes since Ranger had last knocked but stubbornly she briskly said, "Of course she's home. She's just old. It take's her a while."

"I don't think it'll take her this long."

"She's probably just busy. She won't answer the door until she's finished with her own business." However, her impatience could not be guised entirely and eventually she abandoned shifting from foot to foot, cupped her mouth and tilled, "Mrs. Jinkins! Mrs. Jinkins!"

I had been selected to accompany Ranger and Wolf to this stranger's home, a duty for one or two, but as much as I tried to deny or excuse it I knew the answer for this odd companionship- Jack did not want me overhearing conversations at the lodging house, and did not want to have to worry about me selling. Underneath it all because of my femininity I was included in anything involving homemaking.

As she held out another long winded "Mrs. Jinkins" the window slid open with perfect non rusted ease, while absent-mindedly Ranger glanced around, examining potted plants and pieces of children's arts decorating the surrounding window sills, her mouth still open wide and calling for the elderly woman. After our snickering Ranger focused on the window once again, startled to find the petite and stooped woman watching her.

"You don't need to shout, dear. I'm not an old dog."

"Sorry," Ranger grinned before gesturing to Wolf and me. "I brought Wolf and one of Kelly's strays."

"Oh yes," Mrs. Jinkins squealed, adjusting her glasses that made her eyes look like she was an insect. "He does find them an awful lot."

"She's been around for bout two weeks now."

"Well that's a long time, isn't it? Usually he sends the girls over to that woman Greta."

"Medda," Wolf corrected and she peered at him.

"Yes, that's what I said. I may be old, Jeremy, but I am not senile."

He scowled at me as I stifled my laughter behind a hand. "Yer name ain't no better."

"Don't be shy, darling, Jeremy is a pain but he doesn't bite."

I grinned despite myself as he retorted, "She's never shy. I usually can't get her to shut up."

"We're in a sticky spot, Alice," Ranger interrupted, gesturing for me to close my mouth that had been ready to respond. "The boys are getting beat up all over the place."

"I've heard," she nodded gravely. "You've been the talk of the market lately."

"Yeah, well so far Manhattan's gotten off easy. We haven't lost anyone yet."

"Well don't stand out here talking to me about it, before you know it the neighbors are going to expect me to bring all the gossip."

Taking the window from her Wolf held it open above his head, firmly pressing into the glass so it would remain so and not painfully fall into us, as he slipped into the window, one long leg after the other. Locking it into place, Alice Jinkins disappeared from the window and into her labyrinth and Ranger pushed me forwards, gesturing for me to climb into the window and obediently I crawled in, blindly searching for support and my foot finally finding it in the form of a table. I pushed the rest of me through, careful not to bump my head and Wolf took me by the hand and had already gripped my leg to keep me steady. With his assistance I was able to safely return to the ground. The apartment was strong with a natural and enchanting perfume, possibly its organic origins what was so captivating, and the room was dimly lighted from colorful lamps littered throughout the room. As Wolf pulled Ranger down by the waist and returned her safely I took in my surroundings, taking note that every surface was discombobulated with papers and jars of mystery, books overflowing with stained pages at every conceivable place and every piece of furniture colorful with Indian scarves thrown across them.

"I was just making some tea," Mrs. Jinkins announced as she gently pushed Wolf away from fumbling with the locks on the window and her astoundingly agile fingers nimbly fixed it into its proper place.

"No thanks," Wolf said absent-mindedly, fingering one of the jars already, like a curious toddler.

"I'm glad you're having some tea, Jeremy," she said stubbornly, the strength behind her words taking me once again by surprise. There was apparently a lot left in this woman, no matter how heavily clothed and weary she appeared. As he held up the jar inquiringly she replied, "Calamus. It's an herb expected to cure epilepsy and mental ailments, which you might need Wolf. Why don't you take some?"

"Alright, I might be a tad paranoid but I don't need any herb for it," he grunted firmly and she grinned widely.

"Sorry dear, I meant take some for lice and bed bugs, which the younger children probably need most of all."

"Thank you," Ranger replied, taking the jar from him and carefully wrapping it in the cloth bag she had brought with her, even if it was empty before.

"It's what I was born to do. How do you like your tea…you've never given me a name."

Absent-mindedly, moving onto another jar, Wolf answered "It's Venice."

"What's your name?" Mrs. Jinkins repeated, staring deliberately at me and when Wolf attempted to speak again she chided, "Let her speak for herself. It's periwinkle Jeremy. For depression and muscle pains."

"Interesting…" he replied, snatching Ranger's bag and tossing it in there.

Sharply she reprimanded, "Jeremy!"

"Let him have it," Mrs. Jinkins dismissed. "I've got more than enough. Now, my apologies. What was your name?"

"It's Lani, Jeremy," I corrected, glowering at him and avoiding her prying my birth name from me, as I knew she would. I suppose it did not really matter that it wasn't my true name.

"Good girl. How do you like your tea, Lani?"

I tried to remember the last time I had any tea, or the last time I had dared come close to the vile substance. I knew better than I knew my birthday that if I took it strong it would be coming back out of my mouth and onto my shoes, but I didn't want to appear weak for weak tea.

"I'll give it you mild," she replied, winking and tensions in me relieved for her maternal nature. "I never much cared for it myself but drinking it seems so ideal. Romantic. If you'll excuse me for my notions."

"It would be hypocritical if I did not. It's said to be a common drink but once you're sipping it you're a foreigner, an English princess or a vagabond stumbling upon a smoky tavern."

"You're more likely to be given a pint in a tavern, Venice," Wolf cynically reminded me and I tried to ignore his condescending tones.

"Enough, we all know it makes you feel like a general for the army," she revealed.

"It does?" I mocked, staring at him incredulously and he glared at me with no rebuttal.

"I used to play this game with Jack, Spot, and Camelot. We'd order tea at Tibby's and the first one who gagged or spit it up would have to do whatever the other one's said until bedtime."

"Did you ever win?" Wolf teased and she pretended to be offended.

"For your information I won most of the time. And I never lost."

"You had to have lost sometimes. I mean, c'mon, you gag on almost everything!"

"Yeah but I was the oldest. Even if Camelot didn't loose half the time we'd make her think she did cause we were older and bigger. She caught on when she was round eleven but until then I got tea at Tibby's at least twice a weak."

We shared good-natured laughter, but the mention of our accomplices at the lodging house, of Camelot, brought us back to the business we came here for. Slowly Ranger breathed in and accepted the tea but left it on the table, watching as steam rose over it like the mist over the harbor. "Dere's a few wise guys that are dipping their blades in something nasty. Anyone who gets cut with them doesn't seem to stop bleeding. After Dutchy got nicked on the wrist he caught fever."

"What do the cuts look like?" It was a reaction she was prone to, her ears and mind processing the information faster than any of us in all our youth could. Immediately Mrs. Jinkins was alert and bounding about with the spontaneity of the young and was fiddling with the jars that lay scattered around, some having labels I could not even pronounce.

"Like…cuts," Ranger said despairingly.

"They're darker than they should be even if they're not scabbing over," I added, clarifying what they had not noticed. "It looks like there's a bruise around the edges, but the cuts themselves aren't healing at all. They're wide and open."

"It might have nothing to do with these 'wise guys'. It could be your boys just aren't getting enough to eat, and their bodies aren't healing right."

"There hasn't been a problem like this before," I disagreed, looking to Ranger and Wolf for confirmation and they both nodded, gesturing for me to continue. "Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with our boys. Camelot's got the same thing."

"What?" Wolf said sharply, startling me but I put him in the back of my mind and concentrated on Mrs. Jinkins' placid expression, inviting confidence.

"Her wounds won't heal. They look just as bad today as they did yesterday, even the old ones. I know it takes time for that to heal up but they just…look wrong. They're still bloody. She's running a fever too. Not as high as Dutchy's but its still there."

"Some of that is infection," Mrs. Jinkins said, holding a hand up when I attempted to interrupt. "No, it is. Skin can't stay open like that for long. The rest of it is something else."

"Then what is it?" Ranger said meekly and I tried not to stare at her, but in our brief acquaintance she never seemed anything but in control, strong, and powerful, taking the world by storm. Here she was just a freckled child in braids waiting for her mother to give her the answers she so desperately did not understand.

"Are there any other symptoms?"

"Well Skittery and Snipeshooter got a bad rash," I said, trying to remember everything while she grimaced, learning of their fates, probably even knowing how young Snipe was. There were no limits or boundaries I could secure on this woman's knowledge of our lives, and regretted thinking how much she didn't know and how much she just pretended not to know. "But that's it. The only one's who've been acting funny are Dutchy, whose sleeping cause of the fever and Camelot because of…" I trailed off, mentally reprimanding myself for bringing up an unspeakable, but she understood everything from my silence.

"Is she speaking to any of you?"

"No," Wolf finally said, staring directly at Mrs. Jinkins. "She won't give anybody a straight answer of what exactly they did to her, and who did it. Or why they let her go."

"Or why they took her."

"Well it's obvious why they got her."

"Oh?" Mrs. Jinkins said, eyebrows raised and unconvinced.

"Yeah. For leverage…"

"She wouldn't be leverage if they let her go and didn't contact you all sooner about it."

"Because Swigs is a psychopath, alright? We're just trying to get some answers."

"I see," she said absent-mindedly, peering into jars and straining her mind. "How is Spot?"

"Spotty," I said bitterly, three pairs of eyes staring at me appraisingly. "Sorry. He's being Spot and doing what we all expected. When he ain't with her he's scouring the street doing god knows what."

"So are the rest of em," Wolf shrugged.

Ranger challenged, "So are you". As if he had told her this himself she reiterated, "he's determined to find out all of what happened and to get revenge".

"Well of course he is," Mrs. Jinkins scoffed. "She's his sister, after all. And I'm sure that you'd be doing the same for each other if anybody attacked you. I've seen many kill on so much less provocation. Here."

"What's this?" Ranger wondered skeptically as the jar was thrust into her waiting arms.

"Apply it to the wounds, and they should heal. You should see an improvement in the fevers immediately and take some of these," she said, handing Ranger a bag of some sort of exotic leaves and I knew now where she got the medicinal leaves on our first introduction. "It'll ease the pain."

"They're not in pain," I said confidently, until her empathetic look made my stomach clench.

"The rash should burn, and if it doesn't I'm completely wrong. I'm never wrong, as much as sometimes I wish I could be. As for the wounds, the hurt as if they were just received. If Dutchy was awake, which thank heavens he isn't, he would be in excruciating pain. The sooner you get this to him the better. I'll be along later tonight."

"You shouldn't be traveling alone…"

"I'm old, not dead," she said sharply, quieting Wolf. "I will be along later tonight, because some of them might need stitches. I don't trust these hooligans. It's sneaky to poison blades."

"It's a good idea," Wolf growled, revealing the beast within that had earned him his alias. "Why haven't we done it yet?"

"I dunno, maybe cause we have morals," I said nonchalantly, ignoring the voices that were begging to do the same thing.

"Alls fair in love and war," he retorted, silencing me.

"They say that, don't they? But how far until its insanity? Most people don't murder, that's the sane thing." Alice Jinkins was quiet and disturbed as she pushed the teacups towards us.

"It's war."

"Why? Do you even know what you're fighting over? Now drink up, I'm not letting you leave here hungry."

Her words followed us to the lodging house, up the stairs, and through every duty and every motion we preformed since then. We were fighting for our honor, and for revenge. We were fighting defensively to protect ourselves, those we love, and the territory we love. We're fighting to keep our lives how they used to be when every odd and chance screams those things are changing. Society is turning a new leaf. We shouldn't have to turn with it. I might've not been a newsie for years, but I lived here, it was my home and nobody has any right to challenge that.

"I thought I told you to keep the necklace out when we're alone," Spot grumbled lackadaisically, his thoughts drifting between barriers and his words just a rough quote from them. It was an automatic response as I snapped, "Don't tell me wad to do".

Regretting spiteful words I cursed a hundred times over the bitter haze that had followed me home, infecting anybody that dared come too close. He hadn't left his sister since she had been brought here without a word of reason, but when the ramblings and explosions of his only blood link became too much even for another second he did not leave my side, no matter how hard I pushed him away. Since he had come too close he wouldn't leave either out of his own pride in being a persistent obnoxious insect or out of actually wanting to be around me. I wasn't sure which. I wasn't sure which I hoped it would be. I tucked the necklace further into my shirt. "We're not alone, Spot. Any second another newsie is gonna be running in or out."

He didn't respond, which was as good as acknowledging that he was wrong. Jack had loosened the reigns over us all for emergencies, and I had kept myself out of the chaos that surrounded the lodging house. Those who came never stayed long, and I didn't know why they left or came. The silence was growing unbearable though in this dusty entrance. "Penny fer yer thoughts."

"I don't need a penny. Racetrack hasn't been gambling lately and that's all I need it for."

"Fine. I don't have a penny anyway," I snapped, letting him ruffle my feathers and I turned the other cheek, angling away from him though there wasn't much room in the doorframe of the front door. I didn't have a penny anyway. I didn't have much, and I tried to remember the last time I had spent my own money on food, not forgetting Spot's gracious contribution. It was all shared equally as of late because skill and talent did not matter anymore once we were out selling. It mattered who had the unlucky spot of being where scabs and gangsters were that day.

"You need to eat something," Spot murmured, nearly reading my thoughts and I could only shrug.

"So do you," I finally retorted and he averted his eyes, for the awkwardness at somebody minding our health, caring about a well-being we self-mutilated. Self-destruction was the easiest outlet and it manifested itself in different ways for individual people. He had taken to not eating, to drinking more (where they found the money for alcohol was beyond me and I settled that they stole all of it) and slamming his knuckles into walls, especially since the awful occurrence of Brandy. As glad as I was that he was not harming others, I wanted him to hurt himself even less.

"Stop that," Spot ordered sternly and grabbed my jaw, holding it still and preventing me from biting my lip. I had fallen in love with biting them until they bled and I had scratches that I was ceaselessly deepening and that the cold air bit; like cleaning, it exerted all my energy into something. Pushing his hand away I deliberately chewed on my lip, as he scowled with my direct stares. His reflexes were quick as he opened my mouth, leaving my teeth stranded.

"Let go," I called through an opened mouth, my pronunciation slurred and a tiny smirk reflected the humor of it before he hardened again. I tried to pull his hands away from my mouth but he held on tightly, careful not to leave bruises of his fingerprints.

"Not until ya promise not to bite yerself anymore," he compromised and I tried to shake my head but he kept his hands on my jaw too tightly.

"I can't," I whined. "It ain't dat bad. I'se just biting me lip!"

"Yer hurting yerself. Yer making yerself bleed. Its bad so stop it." I grumbled and groaned persistently. "Hit me. If you need to, hit me. Just don't hoit yerself."

I stopped struggling to stare, my mouth perfectly open for surprise and shock and he stared stonily back at my shock for his sacrifice. "I'm not going to hit you."

"I'd rather you hit me than yerself. Now promise me you ain't gonna hoit yerself. Please," he added quietly and maybe it was his self-sacrifice or maybe it was his plead that made me murmur my consent. "Say it."

"I promise not to bite my lip anymore."

"Good," he acknowledged and dropped his hands from my mouth, satisfied, but I raised a finger.

"If," I continued. "You don't hit yerself anymore. Or drink."

He stared at me hard in the eye, a bookie's face attempting to have me back down but I was determined to knock him off his pedestal. If he did not agree, I would slam myself into this wall until he had no other choice. He probably understood this as he finally grumbled, "Fine". I spat in my hand and held it out and he returned the gesture. "You spit like a man."

"I take it as a compliment."

"You should," he admitted, for once not lecturing me on the values of behaving like a proper lady. "But you still need to eat something."

"So do you," I sighed in a repetitive conjuncture of sounds.

"Well then lets eat," he said, implying my ignorance for not suggesting this sooner and I arched an eyebrow in a look that Jack very loudly tried to get rid of. I gestured for him to continue this proposal and he stared at me as if I were thick headed. "Don't look at me like I've grown two heads. We're both hungry. We're both not eating much. So let's force each other to get some grub."

Impatiently he didn't wait for me to agree or even show my approval for this scheme and he offered his hand, staring into my eyes and somehow knowing that I would take his hand and let him guide me away from the lodging house and down the street, walking on the inside and towards the alley's and side-streets in an aware and protective gentlemanlike gesture. I stared down at our hands, studying how perfectly they intertwined and melted together, like a piece that had been long since missing. I didn't try and ignore that I felt safe, an idea that I had been so unaccustomed to feeling I almost forgot how it felt at all. I couldn't explain it, but I so sure that I would not be harmed while he was with me no matter where our streetlight wanderings took us.

Suddenly I came to terms with where I was and who I was with. I looked over my shoulder and groaned, "Jack's gonna have my hide."

"For eating?" I heard his sarcasm and chose to ignore it.

"Fer leaving the lodging house without his permission," I fretted and tried to disregard how hopeless I sounded, living by rules and regulations and for once caring what Jack thought at all. "He ain't gonna like his newsgirl roaming da streets at night. I should've told him I was going…"

"Venice, relax. Yer wid da king of New York." The gas lights illuminated him and lengthened his shadow in a smoky atmosphere with dimensions we hadn't discovered yet. He smiled down at me with pouty lips and dangerous eyes, pulling me behind him and holding my hand tightly, not giving me the choice to hold on or to let go.

"Weah are we going? Tibby's?" I knew very well we weren't going in the right direction.

"Nah, nah, nah. Ya go dere day aftah day, goily. Why would ya want to go dere now, when we have the world at our fingertips?"

"So weah's at our fingertips?"

"Do ya have to know everything? Can't ya just walk somewhere, have no idea weah ya are, and eat at some little shack ya find?"

"Is that wad we're doing?"

"No," he shrugged and I snickered before he flashed me a grin. "But one day we will. For now just trust me."

"Do I have a choice?" I sighed and he squeezed my hand tighter as we turned a corner into harder neighborhoods and skuzzier people. He drew me close and I brushed against him as we walked, creating small talk and scenes to pass the time, ignoring the shaded and boarded windows, especially the ones with light behind them. I pulled him towards the street, walking in the direct middle of it.

"Wad are we doing?" Spot whispered, looking around for something to tell him how this made sense. There were people (especially old men and the occasional working girl) littering the edges of the street but nothing we had not passed a hundred times over.

"Not thinking," I smirked as we walked in the middle of the road with no fear of carriages- we would hear them before they came and they came too rare on this side of town. "I always wanted to walk in da middle of the road. It seems never ending. Like following da tracks out of heah."

I didn't know where it went and Spot hardly seem to know either but we continued walking as he illustrated memories and moments and I contributed with moments of my own. We spoke about the sun and the stars and no tomorrow, breaking barriers we had raised and pressuring each other for answers we thought we were incapable of.

"You could become mayor," I suggested once we had stretched future plans thin.

"Right. Vote fer me, a former newsie leader who's drank and fought more den anybody in Brooklyn. It'll go over really well."

"It could woik," I retorted. "You already know more about da city than the mayor. Ya have charisma, and if all else fails you could threaten people to vote fer ya." He chuckled and we fell into a thick silence, absorbed in thoughts what someday might be no matter what weighed against us.

"I asked you if having a home of yer own wid plenty of babies to fill da empty space is wad ya want. You never gave me an answer."

"And I still don't have one," I sighed, regretting I hadn't thought more about it after he had gone but I had been too absorbed with Camelot's entrance and now I had no choice but for spontaneous answers, without predicting dangerous repercussions and knowing a hundred ways to avoid them. "I'd like to see more than this city. I'd like to have a voice in the world instead of it being lost like thousands of others. And someday, somewhere, I'd love to have that perfect family full of love; one you know you can come back to after the worlds turned its back. But being a newsgirl and the thought of having a family of my own has me running scared. I know how much can go wrong. And sometimes the people have nothing to do with it; sometimes we're torn apart by money or fire. And I don't want it to go wrong."

"Venice," he said softly and I looked up at him as we paused in the middle of the street, frozen by time, space, and words. "A thousand things can go wrong anywhere, anytime. My sister could've never come home. Right now the street could crack open and swallow us. Or that tree could fall and crush us where we stand. Nothing is ever a guarantee and sometimes there's no more time for surviving, and sometimes it's your last chance. I can't tell you something won't happen to your family. But I can tell you that your fear of what's a good chance of never happening can't control your life. I won't let you do that to yourself. Cause there's a bigger chance that you're going to be the best mother and your husband is going to be the luckiest man in the world to even know your name.

"Besides, if something goes wrong I believe everything happens for a reason. Do you think if my family was perfect I'd by the leader of the Brooklyn newsboy's? Do you think we'd be having this conversation right now or would even know each other? Fate knows wad its doing. You have ta trust it enough to let it."

"When'd you get so smart?" I chuckled once the silence became unbearable. I had to come to terms with how right he was.

"Some people make me smart," he shrugged it off and I tried not to focus on decoding his rhymes as we moved on. Good things happen in bad towns. "I would like to be mayor, you know. I wanna live on in the hearts of men. I wanna change things and I want to be remembered."

"Nobody can forget you," I flattered. "Then become mayor."

"It ain't dat simple."

"Yes it is. If you want it, make it happen. Take it cause it ain't gonna be handed to you."

"I'm so much older than I like," he admitted, stretching and I tried to brush away the feeling that I had been alive for eternity with every year passing like ten. "I feel old. I feel like I've seen too much. Soon I'm gonna be too old to be a newsie, and I don't like dat. I wish I was still five."

"Me too," I sighed.

"Anyway, we're heah," he finally announced and I slumped just a little. Surprisingly my feet weren't even tired yet. Surprisingly I didn't want the constraints a diner or stand would offer. I looked up only to find a solid door with little decoration and only a strong brass doorknob.

"Care to tell me weah heah is?"

"It's my secret lair. We sacrifice virgins," he smirked and I fought back a blush for his crude humor I hadn't been used to hearing, especially from someone who is constantly barking orders for innocence.

"How do you know I'm a virgin," I challenged, becoming the seductive feline I had learned from the streets that I was capable of, shaking my hair into my eyes and wrapping a leg against his thigh. He rubbed back, aware of all my petty actions and didn't break my gaze.

"If you weren't I wouldn't be so interested. And you would've been in my bed before. Now c'mon," he urged, pulling the heavy door open and ushering me inside, not giving me the time to unravel his mysteries of intrigue. I squinted, unused to the lights shooting down from random spots against the wall, the rest of the room left in a dank, hazy darkness with the strange perfume of cheap cologne, cigarettes, ale, and seawater pressuring the air. I blinked to find nothing more than two doors, nearly invisible in the white washed walls so stained with mold and water the paint chipped for the light wood beneath. I didn't wait for Spot and edged towards the first door, straight ahead and inviting me closer.

"Don't go in dere," he warned sharply, pushing me from it and keeping a hold on my arm.

"I thought we were grabbing food," I accused, frustration forcing me closer to the door and without a word of protest he released me.

"Fine, Venice, be stubborn as a mule and go in there. I just wasn't planning on watching you'se get knifed. At best."

He had my attention and the bastard knew it, knew I wasn't foolish enough to still press into the door or approach it an inch closer, despite my stubbornness. I felt him standing behind me, that cocky grin slapped on his face and hissed, "I thought you weren't sacrificing virgins."

His laugh was superficial. "I ain't. You see through this door," he guided, keeping his hands on the back of my arms. I planted my feet firmly, refusing to let him lead me anywhere until I knew where I was going. "…Is a trap. You go through this door and there's gonna be a few guys ready to spill your brains. That door is weah we wanna go. Not getting killed is the ideal heah. If we can get something to eat it's even better."

"Spot," I insisted, pulling away from him and he sighed dramatically.

"You know I wouldn't take ya somewhere ya could get hoit. Just trust me, I know wad I'se doing," he murmured, taking my hand and pulling me towards the second door and I offered as little resistance as I was comfortable with.

"Wad if you've got da wrong door?"

"Venice," he warned quietly, his eyes flashing at my doubts. "Do you trust me or not?"

Maybe for a precaution, or maybe for my own sanity, he pushed me to the side and away from frontline to the door. I couldn't smell a whiff of doubt as he reached for the door and didn't hesitate to yank it open, demonstrating his confidence and every reason I should trust him as he pushed the door further open and guided me by the small of my back, pulling me into the room before I had a chance to investigate or question anything, the door slamming with a sense of finality.

They just bombard you with sensory overload and figure you'll survive. There was more than the five senses that made my knees go weak with the drastic changes I couldn't keep up with, from the intoxicating and dramatic odor of stale and fresh cigarettes, varieties of alcohol that mixed perfectly, people's distinguishable human scent and lady's perfume, seawater, and some strange fresh scent that I couldn't place, the freshness of the greenest grass in Central Park after a heavy rain. It was everything from the intangible volume of strange brogues and identifiable accents and languages, the incredibly similar tone of the human voice, in prose and song, in whispers and shouts, from the instruments that accompanied the background, chairs scooting, drinks landing, feet stomping and men clapping. The light was somehow brighter and dimmer than anything I had seen, with the hazy hue of smoke and dust, but so sultry and vibrant I couldn't take it in at once. The wooden floor echoed with noise and the tables were outlined with mixtures of cloth and steel and wood, boxed candles showing different colors of flames.

"Welcome to what they tell you to hide from," Spot chortled close to my ear and I didn't have to turn to feel his smile, his adoring eyes taking everything in with a familiar fondness.

"Spot! Spot, is dat yew?"

It was an instantaneous reaction to a familiar accent, however strange and heavily Irish it sounded to me, and he stiffened to scan the faces, searching for a pursuer that was trying to make himself known, as impossible as it was to create an impression on strangers. A stocky man emerged from everything that surrounded us with a bristling beard and bright eyes that had Spot's face break in two with a grin.

"Adair," Spot greeted, embracing the foreign man and patting him on the back as they drew away, scrutinizing each other from their last meeting, however many moons had passed since then.

"Yer growing into a fine man, Spot," Adair regarded with a pleased nod that was a seal of approval.

He blew his chest out accordingly, retorting, "I've never been a boy".

"Well I think when I had to chase yew and yer sister out of me bars yew were a no good doing boy then," he replied through narrowed eyes and I readied myself for a rebuttal and a mention of Camelot but only an innocent smirk befell Spot. "Hows that working fer yew now?"

"Well I guess I'm not being chased out anymore. Aye, I'm chasing Camelot out of em," he chuckled and the man gave a hearty laugh, an i'm-going-to-laugh-and-i-don't-give-a-damn-if-you-hear-me holler that threatened the buttons on his green vest, identifying his heritage if his red hair and green eyes couldn't. "And yer not looking as old as you could be."

"Oh ho, still a smart aleck, are ya?" Adair remarked, throwing his hands up in despair.

"Scuze me miss," a stumbling man politely addressed and I stepped aside before he covered his mouth and sped beyond where I could see. Adair called over his shoulder, "Watch weah yer spewing!"

"Now, now, who's this," he continued, eyeing me and silently I cursed the man for drawing attention to me. Surprisingly Spot stepped back instead of dragging me to him and placed a reassuring hand on my back.

"This is Venice, and dats Adair. He's been chasing aftah me since I was in da womb," Spot introduced but Adair shook his head in disapproval.

"That's the introduction we get? I'm ashamed of ye, boyo. What relation does this lovely young lady have with the likes of yew?"

"Well," he stalled, searching the room for answers and shifting uncomfortably. I could offer my newsgirl status and end the awkwardness but I preferred to watch Spot suffer. "Jack took her in a few weeks ago. My sister adopted her into the clan a few minutes after she appeared."

"And why does she have yer ma'ams charm?"

I held my throat and searched for the necklace, feeling it safely tucked beneath my clothes and I began to suspect more powers than one should have. "I'm all too familiar with that piece around yer neck, I can know its shape no matter how well you've hidden it. I'm guessing you're hiding something more, boyo."

A chorus of "Adair!" drew in his unwilling attention and he barked something unintelligible over his shoulder, trembling in annoyance and he gestured wildly, muttering something about 'helpless as newborn babes'. "Well as ya can see, they can't run the bar without me and there's nothing worse than a drunken Irishman that can't get more ale. Blessings to yew both, have a nice night, behave yerselves, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera." He easily took his leave, shifting authoritatively through the throngs of people and hollering at those who were too thick headed and self-absorbed to heed his shoves.

"What?" I demanded defensively once Spot noticeably eased and although the awkwardness was eliminated I still needed to search for explanations for the boyo hiding something else.

He rubbed a hand over his face, mumbling excuses. "He's like family and being interrogated by him is even worse. Now let's move on, I didn't bring ya heah just so we could tawk it up wid him."

"Ya brought me heah for food if I'm remembering right."

"Food, that's right," he nodded, almost remembering something he shouldn't have forgotten and beckoned me to follow him. Unintentionally I scooted closer to him, on his heels and if he realized this or not he didn't acknowledge it, and nobody else seemed to give us the least bit of attention. "There's food heah. Food dat hasn't been on da floor yet if you know da right people."

"Do you?"

"I know all the right people," he responded drenched in arrogance but it was a familiarly fond sound now to my defensive ears and I nearly appreciated it; at least he was himself, and at least that was familiar. We maneuvered our way through the throngs of people melting into each other where one seam couldn't unravel it all, and with a second held stare greetings were made to brief acquaintances. Defiantly I refused to stare at the floor despite the calculating stares that followed my shadow, especially from the guarded occasional woman who had already claimed a territory I was invading and had no right to.

"We don't bite, Venice," Spot grumbled impatiently.

"But I do," I said low and huskily, taunting and teasing, not really wanting him to meet my dare. Seductively I wetted my lips and stared up at him through arched eyebrows, daring him to react. He responded carefully, wrapping an arm around my waist and gracing my lips with a brief kiss, too quick for me to react.

"I know," he hinted, the suggestions only in his burning eyes and as determined as I was to be the last to pull away it was a game too dangerous to play. I broke the gaze and he watched me for the longest second before he loosened his grip, his hand falling to a couple fingers possessively gripping the side of my shirt.

He slammed a hand on the wall beside a wooden door in the alcove we had settled in, not raising his hand for a knock but thumps that avoided the door. "Oy! Russell!"

"Whatchoo want," an aggravated voice demanded and above the mirage of noise heavy footsteps reverberated beyond the door. Spot pulled me slightly, till we were both beyond the door as Russell swung it open and his bearded face peered out. "Ey! Who's there?"

"Spot Conlon," he answered, rolling his eyes at me and I stifled a snicker as he moved before the door and presented himself for the judgmental eyes of the troll that lived beneath the bridge. He towered over Spot and he almost appeared clean cut compared to the man, drenched in his own silvery sweat and he badly needed to shave, his eyes red rimmed and dark.

"Wad yew doin heah, Spot? I hardly see ya round dese parts anymoah," Russell responded, civility touching his husky voice.

"Been busy, Rus," he retorted nonchalantly and Russell's eyes flickered to me, leading to a grin and a glow of recognition.

"Wadevah yer thinking ya bettah think a different tune," Spot growled and I didn't want to imagine the thoughts they exchanged and overcame. "I'm da leadah of Brooklyn, and I've had plenty on my plate lately wid all dats going on."

With a knowing grin he acknowledged, "I'm sure ya have".

"Listen heah," I started, stepping threateningly forwards and tried to ignore his eyebrows raise, aware I didn't pose much of a threat. I was too worn thin from the presumptuous and accusing glares, the implying faces and the scolding tones, and this condescension from a stranger stretched my self-control too thin. Narrowing my eyes I lowered my voice and hissed, "I don't wanna know wads running through dat dirty gutter dat ya call a mind, but ya don't want me to know, so ya better learn ta hide it. Do I look like a hussy? But ya wouldn't know, cause a blind and stupid prostitute wouldn't even be interested in you."

"Excuse me?" he shouted, taking a quick step towards me and Spot held out a warning hand. "I'll have you know, I'm married and she looks like an angel, and is quicker den you'll ever be. Who da hell do you think you is, goily?"

"I dunno who I am but I know wad I'm ready to do if ya raise yer voice ta me again," I threatened, rolling up a suggestive sleeve, keeping the other fist clenched.

"Oh is dat right? I dare ya, two-bits."

"How clever. Ya called me a whore. Yer original."

"Well look at you."

"Now listen heah," Spot started but I interrupted him before an exact thought could be produced.

"If I was you wouldn't be able to afford me," I snapped, aware I was crossing the line as he stepped too close. I held my nose, suggesting how badly he reeked. He grabbed my wrist almost as Spot twisted his arm, breaking his grip from me and he overpowered him, shoving him against the doorframe and moving his arm in directions that nobody should be capable of. Russell let out a series of low groans and moans before he swung out at Spot who easily dodged him and released his arm.

"Ya crossed da line, Russell," Spot warned and his quarry threw his hands suggestively and helplessly towards me. "I don't give a fuck wad she says to you. I knew yer ma'am and I know she taught ya better den ta touch a goil like dat. And don't you ever, ever raise a hand to dis goil!"

"Oh so she is…"

"I don't give a damn about da goils I'm sleeping wid. And neither should you."

He panted heavily, glaring between Spot and I and trying to choose the right step in this tango to hell, aware stepping on a partner's foot could have unsavory results. But Spot's message was clear and he understood where to put his nose in his business. He rubbed his face, worn thin, before he grumbled, "Dat kitten has claws".

"You have no idea," Spot agreed, holding out a hand to steady him. With the glare he was giving me I didn't dare say anything more. He turned on me. "Look wad ya did, Venice. He was our ticket to food."

"Yer looking for food?" Russell exclaimed. "Wad, ya ain't getting fed anywhere else?"

"Have ya taken a look around da city lately? How easy do you think we can get something to eat?"

"Alright, alright, I get it," he sighed, pushing into the door and fiddling with everything I couldn't see, and wasn't sure I could trust not knowing exactly where his hands were, and where they weren't. Briefly I glanced around the small and splintered kitchen, noticing the liquor staining the cabinets and the dirty dishes stacked too high. He reappeared, balancing two bowls of something steaming in one arm as he shut the door with the other, offering it to us and to my dumbfounded face said, "Call it a peace offering, honey. Sides, Spot's one of us. Him and his kind are hungry, I feed em."

"It's a good system," Spot agreed, gulping down the soup and his trust for it eliminated the thought of poison as I poured it down my throat, negligent to what was in it as long as it was edible. My hunger rose to meet this newcomer, and for today it was beaten back, bated and satisfied. He relieved us of the bowls, muttering exclamations of our obvious hunger as we offered grateful words that mattered little when coin was concerned, and in this little alcove in this little bar it did not. Family and heritage probably mattered above it all.

"You Irish?" Russell interrogated and I focused upon the nicks that outlined his hands and commemorated a tough life measured in will power and sweat. I shrugged noncommittally, aware Spot was watching me probably even more curiously than he was. "Speak up child, yer mumbling awfully."

Too loudly I snapped, "I dunno," trying to control my temper against one of Spot's withering warning stares, prepared for overreactions. My questioner held up his hands innocently. I repeated, "I dunno. I dunno wad I am."

"Orphan," he nodded sympathetically and again I shrugged, unable to truly identify my status anymore.

"Why does it mattah so much?"

"It's heritage, weah yer from. Chances are yer extended family, or dats how we see it."

"I'd think for a land of lost boys and goils it wouldn't mattah weah yer from," I said with arched eyebrows, ignoring how curious I was myself.

"Course it doesn't," Spot said shortly. "We'se newsies and street kids. Dats our heritage."

I resisted calling him on it, too aware he was lying for reasons unknown and heritage, history, meant more than anybody could identify, especially for those who couldn't reveal their pride for it, especially those who had lost an identity with a different life, in a different time. The present chased away these thoughts.

"You could be Irish," Russell continued as if he had not been interrupted, as if we hadn't made a claim to the worthlessness of where we hailed from. "A lot of immigrants are. I could see some Gaelic in you wid dat black hair and bright eyes."

Unsure how I was supposed to respond I awkwardly said, "Thanks".

"It's better if yew pretend yer Irish in heah," he continued, gesturing towards the close knit selection that encompassed the bar. "Anyways, I gotta be getting back to woik. Don't stay out too late, you've gotta get up and do everything all over again."

"Lord I hope not everything," Spot emphasized and Russell chuckled knowingly but I traded a glance with him, emphasizing that he could truly never really know, not exactly. Perhaps he could touch upon it, involved with his own gangs and wars but he was not an adolescent forced upon the streets, intertwined with street fights that made no sense. He couldn't measure the fear of turning a corner or watching a friend suffer alone, too weak to admit we weren't really as strong as we thought.

We took our leave with grateful pleasantries and the door clanged gently behind us. We looked around without a purpose and no direction, not willing to return to the lodging house quite so soon. Absently I looked at him as he scanned the room, searching for something, finding nothing. I nudged him, staring pointedly at the room.

"Wad do we do now?"

"Wad everybody else is doing," I responded, remembering how thick headed he was and subtle messages could never be so subtle. Sighing, I tapped my feet, hopping from one to another and spinning around, dancing with myself. His bemused smirk announced how thick-headed he truly was. Men. "Dance, Spot."

"Na-uh," he retorted adamantly, shaking his head hard enough to send his hair flying. "I don't dance."

"Can you dance?"

"Yes, I just choose not to."

"Prove it."

"Venice…"

"Spot…" I challenged and when he made no move to take me up on it I took a few steps away from him, not looking back as slowly I made my way into the crowd and quickly he followed, trying to take hold of my arm but I squirmed until we were compressed from all sides with no easy escape. Slowing I let him take hold of my arm but turned the tables on him and took his other hand, trying to keep pace with the fast dancing that surrounded us.

"I don't dance, Venice!"

"It's more like drunken stumbling," I said, dragging him around as he finally adjusted, realizing that eyes weren't following us, too content with following themselves. We blended in with the others, men chasing around each other with ale in their hands, the women having more than one partner because of their scarcity. We spun quickly, the room spinning as I was pushed further and further away, hanging onto him for dear life as our palms, then our fingers, then the tips held tight. I stumbled back and landed hard on the ground, baffled and laughing as the world span around me and I shut my eyes, trying to avoid nausea as I felt my way around the space that others had given us. I felt him beneath my hand and he put his hand atop mine, breathing heavily as I opened my eyes and laid next to him. He felt me there and adjusted until our bodies fit perfectly, lying in the middle of stumbling drunk Irishmen and not caring. He looked over at me, finally regaining the world right side up and I grinned back, excited over trivial and frivolous matters.

"You smile like someone I used to know." I craned my neck painfully back to identify a voice I felt was addressing me despite the throngs of people that would so much better capture his interest. Spot clenched my hand tightly, his heart rate returning to normal and preparing for it to speed with adrenaline.

Loudly he responded, "Who might dat be?"

"Mary. The most ordinary name for the most extraordinary woman," he revealed wistfully and I boosted myself into sitting, and Spot followed until we could place a voice with a face, a beginning.

"Wad happened to her?" I pressured, standing and Spot followed quickly and I could feel his aggravation radiating like sparks. His concern was what involved him, and nothing that included an outsider, somebody free from his mind, somebody he didn't need to be burdened with.

Perhaps I had pressed him too far too soon from the faraway look he ignored me for, finally murmuring, "I wish I knew".

"Was she a childhood sweetheart?"

"Venice," Spot snapped, his voice lost to the noise of the crowd and only meant for my ears.

"No. Not quite. I met her at this very bar though. One night, what is it now, four years ago? She used to come in here every Saturday night. And then she stopped. And I never even knew her last name."

"Why'd she stop?"

"I ask myself dat all the time and I still have no answer."

"So are you saying," Spot finally began although I could hear the morbid air before he said a syllable. "That you come in here, that you've been coming in here for years, looking for a woman who'll probably never show again."

"She might," he shrugged. "I hope she will. There's always a chance I'll be lucky enough to cross her path again."

"That's ridiculous," Spot muttered and I nodded to the mysterious man sympathetically but all of my sense sang in accordance with Spot's biting words, avoiding the romantic that hid inside every woman's heart, focusing on the idiocy and all the wasted nights searching for something that would forever be lost. He was a young boy who had lost a tiny dog on his family's farm seven states away, and was still searching for it inside the constraints of his room, not realizing how little breathing room it really offered anybody. Four walls were to hide in and not an escape, no matter how much we thought they offered us protection from whatever was on the other side of the door- however many times we locked that door and put a chair beneath the knob things could get in, and you couldn't get out when you most needed to. I had the scars to prove it. I had the memories to show hiding did nothing but wasted time we couldn't afford to loose, because as rapid as the leaves change your age changes with it and sooner than you know your just a middle-aged man waiting in a bar for a woman he never knew.

I nodded a goodbye, trying to make up for Spot's blatant rudeness as he edged me away from the man, maneuvering through a crowd that was already fed up with our presence. We made our impression in it through however much time was lost, standing there and swaying to a fiddle that was pressing in the background, occasionally keeping up with the crowd but wasting time with quiet voices and irrelevant notions. Discussions of faraway cities with faraway gangs and further away suited men sitting in their high chairs above the city, smoking their Havana cigars and diabolically plotting how to increase their revenue and corrupt their politicians took heated energy. Murmurs of dreams for the future and memoirs from the past took away personal moments. I wasn't sure how my mouth slipped so easily and the words flew out so gracefully, but it was a toxic mess I couldn't stop and almost didn't want to, enjoying an awkward openness that was just procrastination from going back to the lodging house, back to any disaster that could've ensued in an absence so vital. I knew one of the true reasons he was rambling, and couldn't blame him entirely for not wanting to come back to his sister, however better her wounds were healing and her fever was receding because of Mrs. Jinkins. Her mouth was still closed tight and her eyes were still in another world, a place we couldn't find her in nor draw her back into our arms, a place she would have to fight with beyond any façade she can create.

"I need a beer," he finally sighed and before my exasperated expression could turn into words he continued, "Just one beer, Venice. I promise. Sides, I can't just come in heah and not get anything".

"Get me one too," I replied, avoiding this conflict and trying not to think about an alcoholic companion I wish he could forget.

"No." His tone was hard. Final.

"Spot Conlon," I growled, slamming my hand on the table we had claimed. "I am not your sister and I am not your newsgirl. I'm in a bar with you, your drinking, and you better damn well get me something to sedate my appetite for it."

"Venice, I ain't trying to be a controlling ass right now. I don't want ya drinkin. Forget how unladylike it is, you've already proven to me you don't care a lick about that, but it's dangerous. It does things to you even when yer sober. It ain't right."

"So why are you drinkin?" I couldn't live with that hypocrisy.

He stared at me, reaching a standstill that was a move before a stalemate and when threatening and ordering didn't work he had nothing else left to say. There was no excuse he could use. "I already drink more than you do. One more beer can't hurt."

"That's what everybody says. But how many one more beer's can you drink?"

His growl had me inwardly wince but I forced my face to be the plaster I had so carefully trained it to be, as painted as a society girl's especially once her season had begun. Except mine had the anger and the forcefulness they had never been allowed to show. He didn't show anything as he slumped back into his chair, resting his hands across his face, physically training it and wiping away how stretched thin he was. "I really could've used that beer."

I sighed, not thinking as I reached a hand to his arm, entwining our fingers and squeezing our hands as I whispered, "Thank you". He looked up at me, dropping his barricades and surprise met my sincerity. His vulnerability frightened me and I couldn't play the game, looking away and dropping the gaze but the pressure he had on my hand made me look up at him.

"Don't look away," he said, clearly but softly and I tried to pretend the desperation in his voice didn't exist, tried to ignore that he wasn't only talking about the here and now. Running was my expertise, something we shared. The hardest thing was staying when it mattered. It mattered now. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding and nodded slowly, closing my eyes and wishing I didn't mirror his vulnerability and defenselessness.

We gathered ourselves and our thoughts but somehow forgot to repair the emotions that had shattered like glass in a circle around us, drawing us closer than we ever wanted to be. My smile was tiny but as big as I could make it and still be sincere. The flicker of his smile offered hope. "You're beautiful."

I didn't respond. There was nothing I could say because I didn't want to end this openness but I was crawling back inside myself. I shook my head in denial. He was closing off just as fast as I was, his expression halfway to stone when our eyes met again. "No you are and don't say anything. I'm not looking for an answer. I just don't think I've ever told you that before."

"Do you mean it?" I exhaled, not really daring to have asked that at all.

Unhesitatingly he said, "Yes". I wasn't ready to ruin the moment with descriptions of how he had seen me before, or how he had pretended to. Strangely I wasn't blushing for his forwardness, strangely I was softening again as I stared at him.

Beyond him there was the chaos of a bar. Beyond him there was untruths and insincerity. Beyond him there was a heavily clothed woman who was watching us. He followed my gaze discreetly, and once he noticed the matron his immediate alarm eased into a fond disbelief. "She is here every night. Worse than that gentleman over there."

"You're acquainted?"

"Not very well, we might've exchanged pleasantries on some night. But I know enough that she comes here every night and sits at that very table, just waiting for love to find her. She wears all her finery and practices introductions and her smile."

"Has Prince Charming ever come?"

"No," he sighed and this was more heartbreaking than the pathetic the man was. "She's never offered because she doesn't belong here. Too high class."

"Why does she come here then?"

"Nobody knows. I suspect it's because she sees and breathes more than her class will let her. Maybe she's read too many penny novels and is waiting for the poor striking man to sweep her off her feet and take her away from the restraints her life offers her." He wasn't joking. "I wish she could get her story book ending."

"It's not really an ending though," I murmured, only realizing I spoke my thoughts when he gave me an appraising stare. "Love isn't an ending. It's the beginning to something so painful and spectacular there are no words for it."

"But it's the end to her tragedy."

"Maybe not. Maybe her love will die as soon as they establish happiness." I was arguing and it was unattractive, but it was more than playing devil's advocate.

"They say it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all," he reiterated absently.

"Do you believe that?"

He shrugged noncommittally and I couldn't say anything more or pressure him into an answer I couldn't give. "Those who say that probably have never really been in love."

I nodded and we remained silent and not really thinking, just focusing on repairing the walls we had knocked down willingly and involuntarily. A shadow fell across us soon after and I didn't look up to know Adair had finished with his chores, and the men exchanged pleasantries and compliments to the bar and expected graciousness. Finally I looked up, smiling cordially to the owner who nodded back. It was a world of pleasantries, and congenial greetings from strangers and friends, still too guarded and careful to speak what's really on a person's mind. The poor are more lax in it than the well to do, but it is never really gone. Maybe it's better that way. Maybe the further away we are the easier it is. Even if we don't mean a word that is said.

"Wad are ya thinking about Venice?" Spot started and I tensed, aware his question went against everything I had just been thinking, a contradiction to a society that only sometimes existed and it was better to let another take the lead and dictate if it ever existed at all. Starting something that couldn't be finished, starting something that was too much for polite to handle only pushed someone further away.

Replies were hard to come by and precarious, when I couldn't very well add how well he spoke when newsies or friends weren't around, without an accent of the streets. Bluntly I stated, "I was thinking about how people come together without knowing anything of another person, and have to stay long enough before something that can be revealed to scare them away".

He stared at me and for once I couldn't accurately identify his expression when it was an unpredictable emotion. Tints of aggravation, maybe even anger at my boldness tinted his face and his posture, adding to the thoughtfulness he took my statement in and any insinuation I could've made. I couldn't tell if he was embarrassed by me and that was why he wouldn't look away and at Adair and I stared straight back, not challenging, not doing anything but waiting for a reaction that I knew couldn't come.

"She's a thinker," Adair broke the silence and tapped his head, emphasizing it. "That's good. I don't see you around with many thinkers, Spot."

"That's because most aren't thinking further than their hair and the next party," he suggested, finally looking at Adair and pleased by his reaction.

"It's safer," he agreed. "Society isn't ready for things that aren't pretty."

"It's ridiculous," I murmured. "Nothing is pretty. It's an ugly, imperfect mess. We're human. We're not perfect."

"Imperfection can be beautiful," Adair suggested and he read my surprise. A consensus had been made that Spot obviously didn't understand.

"No it can't."

"Flaws make things interesting," I started, not really knowing where I was going. "It keeps things alive and alluring."

"Then imperfection is perfect," Spot announced, defiantly staring at the both of us and I couldn't argue with this sudden philosophy.

"It's usually more crowded in heah," Adair was saying once we heard him again and I glanced around the room that was beating with the pulse of a human heart. How could so many people add even more? "I don't think they know we're open."

"You were closed?" Spot said, embarrassment at his shock flushing his cheeks.

Adair nodded, explaining, "Yeah. My niece was going to be married two days ago".

"Aislin?" A nod met this inquiry.

"When you say was going to you meant..."

"Venice," Spot snapped, warning shaping a simple name that could have so many reasons and guiltily I watched my hands fiddle, my blunt rudeness going lengths nobody was willing to meet.

Once again, my theories were contradicted as Adair said, "It's fine, Spot, it's fine. She was going to be married in here, with a house calling priest, had her muddah's dress on and a brand new veil. Everybody dressed in their best. But Russell ran in heah out of breath and out of mind. Her betrothed had been found dead on the street not more than half the hour before. Fallen in a ditch they was making for some fancy plumbing, watah poured in right aftah he fell. Drowned ta death, the poor lad."

The breath melted from me and my lungs compressed forcefully, unable to tear my eyes away like an accident happening feet away, terrible but alluring. Empathy and fear overwhelmed the senses I had left, my feet suddenly in her shoes and the sensation of hopelessness pouring unwillingly over me. "Tragedies like that don't happen very often, but when they do they can shake your foundation to the core. Even worse was they never told each other how much they cared. Derek taught her that saying 'I love you' was only for the married."

Higher expectations for love downgraded again and I watched my shaking hands, glowing in the dim light and the hazy smoke that gave the room more eeriness than chaos. Spot muttered "I'm sorry" and I spoke my consent but truthfully there were no words to express grief for the mourning, a woman who was adorned in black and probably hadn't yet arranged the proper funeral.

"Don't feel too sorry, laddies. It's a lesson for the wise. A religious and lawful unity shouldn't be the only thing to say 'I love you' for. If ya really mean it, it doesn't have to wait that long."

We nodded our immediate consent, not daring to disagree with words so true but so hard to express. Love is a rarity, but a prize. And those who are lucky enough to have stumbled across it are wasting it when they can barely even admit it to themselves. Involuntarily my glance flickered to Spot and I found him already watching me, intensity burning his blue eyes and the wounds and openness that had barely been stitched ripped open, more painful than before. Vulnerability flooded me as I watched him, wondering if our thoughts crossed and if I was the only one expecting and analyzing too much from these momentary glances.

Adair was watching us carefully, with the rare ability to show nothing and everything at the same time, assuming nothing, presuming everything. I relaxed and Spot followed suit, glaring at Adair, daring him to say anything at all. He arched his eyebrows before turning to me, again showing his ability to say everything without really saying anything. "You have very bright eyes, Venice."

I tried to smile but was caught with watching Spot from the corner of my eye, aware of how quickly he had tensed and was staring hard and threateningly at Adair. He was waiting for a response and I allowed, "Thank you. My ma'am used to say they kept her awake in the dark."

He smiled fondly for memories we all liked to share. "You pro'lly give light to the darkest places."

"I'd like to think so," I thanked, appreciation coloring my cheeks. "I'm sure yer wife thinks the same of you."

"My heart maybe," He looked behind him to where angry shouts were heard, two men squaring off, liquor red lining their eyes. "I should probably stop that before they throw each other over my bar. Can't afford the repairs."

We snickered accordingly as he disappeared and I turned back to Spot, who was watching him go with a mixture of annoyance and humiliation. I attempted to draw his attention away, aggravated by his secrecy. "It's awful about Aislin."

"Yeh," he grunted, avoiding my eyes and I sighed, still feeling the vulnerability Adair had induced. He repeated, "Yeh".

Decrepit silence chorused between us, my thoughts focused on a woman I had never seen, but represented more than blood and flesh or brides, but the infinite propriety of society and people, the guardedness and the coldness that attached brambles to the warmest heart. It was all in wasted time in the end. They say love doesn't have to be spoken, but admitting it to more than just your heart defies embarrassment, defies it all, and until the truth worms its way out nothing is really the truth, merely an illusion and a tangle of emotions no proper person should ever feel. No matter how long I tried to focus on anything but, my mind kept trailing back to feeling like I walked the same course, and that road will only lead to the gallows in the end. All just worthless purposes before that.

"I need a beer."

"Spot..." My moan was soft but aggravated, trying to ignore how determinedly he had stood up. "I thought we already went over dis."

"Wad right do you have ta tell me wad I can and can't do?"

"Ya said yerself dat drinking's dangerous. Ya said everything yerself."

"So? Living's dangerous, girl! Don't care so much."

"I'd rather not be an unfeeling bastard," I grumbled, standing as well to eliminate the feeling of his dominance and my submission. He threw his hands in the air, taking quick steps back, from me and from everything. Everything I had been thinking had ricocheted off him, and now we were left with nothing but symbols of love gone to waste, of feeling anything at all. Suddenly something in me roared, blaring to life and flaming brighter than my fright, thickening the blood rushing too fast in my veins and brewing it to the coloring of my face, temperatures boiling, anger pressing against my skin, threatening to explode never to be put back quite right, because the pieces never really fit- they were made to fit, as was every broken snowflake and falling star, as with everybody who has sacrificed for adaptability.

I hardly knew what I was doing or saying as the room span around me, the blood pumping in my ears and my heart thudding painfully. Edges faded as I turned, bumping into the table and turning the other way, retracing steps I came in on different feet. My hands pushed somebody out of my way before Spot could ever be hot on my heels, grabbing my arms with a grip I couldn't break out of and apologizing to the man I had just shoved, nearly pleading for him to let it slide and a fight not to break loose. The fight was not for me and a stranger.

"Why would you do dat?" he was shouting once the room came into proportion and my blood just pumped harder, adrenaline racing to forget the indentations and bruises he was deliberately leaving on my arms.

"Why would you follow me? Just get yer damn drink, I don't care anymore," I screamed back, scratching my throat and he reeled like I had dealt him a blow. It was enough for me to wrangle away from him, and take steps around everybody that was ever in my way.

"If you didn't care you wouldn't be so angry," he retorted and that tiny comment sparked my temper, only because of the truth that weighed inside, and I thrust my fist back, hitting his solid abdomen. I side-stepped him, avoiding him grabbing me with all cost as I trotted, nearly coming to a run. I searched the wall for the door, desperately groping and struggling with the handle, my fingers trembling badly enough to keep me locked inside. Finally I was able to turn it, pushing it open and storming out, stumbling so slightly.

"Weah are you going?"

I didn't respond before I was pushing the door open and letting it clang behind me, forgetting the stares for all who lingered outside, taking a long drag of their cigarettes before they entered a place that was so instantaneous nobody had time to think before ten more things happened. I pined for a cigarette but couldn't stop to bum one. Spot had opened the door and was standing in the threshold. Just standing there, letting the light silhouette him in the darkness. Letting his hair fly in the wind and his eyes burn. I wouldn't turn around again.

I focused on moving forwards as I finally picked up my feet and truly ran, starting slow and letting my breathing and legs adjust to these rapid movements before I was flying, feeling my heart beating and my adrenaline rushing like wings could help me soar away. I didn't know where I was running. Nobody was chasing me. The thought hurt and freed at the same time. I courted running, the air flying by my ears and putting pressure on them, my body working together to maximize every step and every effort, aware I was running from something and running to something else. But now was not the time for thinking. It was the time for running and rash actions. Without reconsidering it I pulled the necklace from my neck, letting it fall where I ran, not looking back or behind me to see where it had ended. I couldn't think as I ran down the street, not really recognizing anything, curving around the night life and loving the attention of those who watched me until I passed from their view. I didn't really have to think as the breath came out of me in spurts, and my legs loosened and steadily grew stiffer.

I edged towards the curb, unaware of how long I had been running, how far, or where I was and there was no notion of how to make it back. I didn't want to anyway. And I wouldn't. Not until I was ready to. No matter what happened here. Wheezing my legs trembled beneath me and my heart clenched painfully, ready to explode, as I stumbled down in front of some dilapidated building that had been abandoned long ago. I eased myself down, trying to catch breath that was still running.

I was panting for breath. Suddenly I was crying. It was a random deluge I couldn't control, spilling down my cheeks and burning crevices into my flushed skin, stinging my eyes as I panted and wheezed, sobbing, avoiding quiet.

Adjustments were too rapid. I was tired of being followed everywhere I went, words cautioning my steps because I was a female, and tired of there being a reason I had to run and hide. Tired of living under their thumb, to stay in their sight, to behave and restrain propriety while they ran wild. I was tired that I was hurt that nobody followed me now. It was too much for anybody to handle; the war that had erupted on the streets, watching as associates fell around me and my friends were cut up with poisoned blades, my leader withering before my eyes. And Spot. There were no words for how hard I choked down all feelings for him and prayed for them to be just an illusion of infatuation. There was no explaining how far I was thrown with every interaction.

My cries grew louder before softer, from sobs to wails, and from wails to tears, until they finally stopped flowing and I was helplessly lying upon the ground, too exhausted to move. It didn't help to know how vulnerably I laid there, asking to be attacked, and the reactions if any of the boys I had befriended saw me here.

I stiffened from compulsive reactions and pulled myself into a sitting position, ready to crouch and ready to run, just a man walking down the same street I was becoming an immediate threat. He had seen me despite the hat pulled low over his eyes, and was making a cross against the street, coming towards me directly. I looked around for anywhere he could be going and finding the nearest place closed for the night. A stream of curses never left my lips as I slyly moved to my feet and began briskly walking. He sped up. His feet were a repercussion of mine and my senses screamed before I thought to do anything, about to break into a wild run but a voice called out, "Lani!"

The tension was relieved as I slowed to a trot and doubled around, recognizing the voice and statute. Angrily I met him, snapping, "Don't scare me like dat".

"I didn't think you was so easy to scare," Micah retorted, removing his hat and fanning himself with it. I raised an eyebrow. It wasn't freezing but it wasn't warm either, settling for abilities to see our own breath.

My pride was wounded though. "I ain't. But when some low topped man is following ya at night when yer all alone dere's only one thing to think."

"Two," he corrected. Right. Rape and murder. Jolly good. "And why are you all alone? At night?"

"I had places to be," I shrugged, knowing he would never accept this as an answer even before I said it.

Matter of factly he stated, "An Irish saloon".

"Dat might be one of em," I acknowledged slowly. He nodded, surprisingly not pressing the matter or of me being alone. Had he changed that much since the weeks I had seen him last?

"I've been waiting for you, Lani. I've needed to speak to you."

"Well…"

He looked around, making sure there were no eavesdroppers before he moved closer to me, lowering his voice for the secrecy a desolate street offered. "How have things been?"

"Fine."

"You won the bet, you know. You won it a few days ago."

"I know."

"So are you still going to be living with them?" His eyes were laughing, mocking, but there was a cruelty I had never noticed in him before.

I was on guard as I responded, "I think I just might".

"Is there a reason for this change of heart?"

"You were right," I admitted to his raised eyebrow. "They're really not so bad. They're a pain in my ass half the time but things would just look a little too suspicious if I left now. Besides, loyalty is valued there. I'm not going to test that."

I knew from the look on his face that he didn't quite believe me. He knew I wasn't telling him the whole story. Whether he knew the whole story or not was a mystery to me. "I heard you ran into your sister."

"You heard right."

"Have you spoken to her since then?"

"No."

"What did she say to you exactly?"

I paused before revealing too much, disliking his anxious face. "Nothing much. The usual I-accused-you-of-murder-and-your-my-sister bit. Strangely I don't think that bit gets played much."

"More than we want to know," he responded wisely. He was suddenly alert, listening, feeling everything he heard. He leaned in closer and whispered, "Don't believe everything you hear. The one who left you alone on the streets is coming for you now. I will be in touch."

It sounded more a threat than a promise and I didn't turn as he scurried off, taking in the darkness like a cape and vanishing with a few steps. His brief visit had put me more on edge than at ease. But I wasn't alone with all my nerves shot already.

"Are you alright?" were Spot's first words as we shared the same piece of land and spirit of mind, the familiar anger rushing my blood once again by his sight. I nodded. It was such a lie. But it didn't matter now. "Good. Now do you know da hell I went through to find you?"

"Not really," I responded dryly, picturing how leisurely he had strolled the streets and had just happened to come upon me through the consequence of chance and fate. Before he could continue a loud rant that was inevitable I said, "As I remember it you were just standing there watching me run".

"Are you dat stupid?" he snapped, fury flashing in his eyes. "If I ran after ya you would've run ten times fastah. And how do you think me screaming yer name and you screaming bloody murder would look to da night life? Dere's many a man who wants ta play da hero fer a few minutes before they're the villain when you won't repay them right. And sides, there's still bulls around. You, an 'innocent' young girl who's running from a street scoundrel like me. To dem it would look like a fight for your purity."

I flushed more with embarrassment than anger. "I had a tail on you. But you out ran him. Yer proud of yerself, aren't ya you damn conniving goil. Yer proud ya out ran him."

Ignoring his last comment I reminded, "I ran fer a reason, Spot". The familiar urge to run was tingling my legs and calling me away from this confrontation.

"Yer being a brat, Lani," he growled. "An overdramatic brat. We get in da littlest fight and ya run away, parading ta be some innocent little girl. I ain't da bad guy heah, alright? And you ain't as innocent as you'd like yerself to believe."

"Maybe not," I concurred and I sensed his surprise like a pungent odor. I couldn't keep my voice rising any longer, crackling in that high-pitched screech every girl tries to avoid but always comes out in the direst situations. "So why don't you rid yerself of me? Wash your hands and be done."

His voice was low and a warning as he stepped closer to me, for the first time fear urging me to run. "Don't try and make me feel sorry fer you by playing dat card."

"Den have people feel sorry fer you when I run. Cause apparently to you dats all I'se doing."

"Yer not running anywhere." It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order that promised retribution if I even tried to escape, and the look in his eyes swore that I wouldn't achieve it.

"I'll scream," I threatened, taking a step away from him with the knowledge I was no match for him in physical strength, especially in the upper body and he could so easily over power me. I was relying on him not going that far.

"You wouldn't dare," he snarled.

"Try me." I was ready and willing to scream and for the first time desperation traced him and outlined everything he did, for the first time coming to terms that he might loose this battle, might even loose the war.

"How long have you been running, Venice?"

"I dunno. I'd say I ran fer quarter of an hour," I snapped defensively. "And don't play this and expect to get away wid it. I know yer trying to calm me down and get me to forget screaming. I know exactly who you are Spot Conlon."

"Is dat right?"

"Dats right."

He paused, fighting back the words he so desperately wanted to spit out at me. He was trying to control himself and he squeezed his eyes in restraint, releasing his clenched fists. "You've been running fer years. I know yer a street kid. You've been running from something dat nobody has a right to know wad is. But are ya ever gonna stop? As soon as something goes wrong yer packing up and leaving. Well things is gonna go wrong all yer life. You can be da happiest damn woman in da woild and things are still gonna go wrong. Get used to it or give up. But don't stick around heah and continue to be a liddle selfish brat. It ain't fair ta anybody else, so stop just thinking of yerself. Do you know how many people you hoit by running? Every time you shut out dose boys dat have taken ya in as a sister wid no questions asked, ya hoit dem. You get people hoit by not telling dem da whole story. And how long is it gonna go on, Venice? Wad right do you have ta treat somebody like dat? Who in da hell do you think you are?"

I was left spluttering for words and taking them in stride as I stepped closer to him, narrowing my eyes and challenging, "Who da hell do I think I am? Who in da hell do you think you are ta tawk ta me like dis? You ain't nobody, Spot. But nobody can challenge da almighty Spot Conlon or he'll beat ya to da ground. Don't tell me I'm hurting people. Yer da leadah of Brooklyn and yer boys are gonna die if you keep this up, if yer fighting every asshole that gives you a dirty look. Do you even care bout dem or do you only care about being da leadah? Of da prestige it gives you. Of ordering people about. Yer so damn lucky dey gave yer sistah up cause wid da way you was acting you would've never gotten her back. You gave up da day it happened. Da very day. And do you know wad dey did to her? No, you never could pry it out of her and you got too consumed wid revenge you don't remember to make things right again. You don't let anybody close. You've turned yer back on everybody whose dared to look yer way. And I was an idiot and I let myself believe that it would stop once you refused dat drink. But you went right back to it once something went wrong…"

"Enough!" He roared, crossing the distance between us in a breath and towering over me. He shouted again, "Enough! Enough!" He slammed his cane against the wall behind us, slamming it every time he hollered that one word until dirt crumbled from the wall and until his arm hurt from the vibrations too badly to carry on. "You say one more woid and yer gonna regret it, I swear I'll make you scream."

"Wad are you gonna do?" I screeched, the entire street engulfing my words. I tested him, shoving him in the chest and he stumbled a few steps back only to rebound. "Wad are you gonna do, Spot? Beat me? You gonna hit me wid dat cane?"

I was terrified he would do exactly what I said and seemed tempted for a moment, raising his cane above me before I noticed by the light of the moon the tears that shone brighter than the stars and colder than the dark side of the moon, the tears that glimmered in his eyes. He screamed out in frustration and threw the cane from him. It landed with a thud upon the ground, becoming so still and dim. He threw his fist against the wall, doing it more damage still before he whirred on me, his hands balled into fists and shoved behind him to remove temptation. I stared between him and his cane, gasping for breath and restraint and some prayer for what to do now.

"I should. Goil or not nobody gets away wid talking to me like dat."

"Nobody's life is worth more than another," I growled and he crossed his arms angrily, a silent starting contest that only resulted in both of us looking away in disgust. Suddenly he shoved me slightly, not enough to make me fall but stumble a few steps back. I raised my hand, waiting for the next sign of a fight but he only stood there, sweat pouring against his knitted brow. He took hold of my arm, pushing me again. "Stop it!"

"Go ahead. Run." He pointed a finger towards a direction I didn't know and I stared at him curiously, trying to decipher his unpredictable nature. "If yer gonna run do us all a favor and leave now before anybody else gets hoit."

The breath left me as I took a few steps in the direction he pointed, never turning away from him as slowly I backed away and he stood there. I paused in the middle of the street, watching and waiting, wondering if I could turn away now. "Wad da hell ya waiting fer? Is dis wad ya want?" He threw his meager earnings at my feet and it bounced off the cobblestone, surrounding me. "Dat should be enough fer a one way ticket out of heah."

"Weah do you want me to go?"

"I don't care." His words stung and I lowered my head, shaking my hair in front of my face. He couldn't see my tears. I wouldn't let him know how badly he was breaking me.

"Pick it up!" he shouted and when I did not reach for the money I suddenly felt him before me, casting his presence like a drug. His voice was fighting for control as sternly he said, "If yer gonna go you _will _go now. Until everything's over you stay, or you leave now. I swear if ya run next time I'll send spy and bloodhound after ya and make torture seem like a fucking paradise."

His savage words frightened me enough to keep me still, holding my breath and looking away from him. His hands grabbed my arms, shaking me slightly and enough to tilt my head up and look at him. The look on his face scared me so badly I wanted to run so far but I remained, staring up at him, unaware what I was saying in my eyes or my face, not sure what I felt or thought at all. He pulled me roughly to him, encircling his arms around me as I buried my face in his chest, digging my fingernails into him and holding against his neck and finally letting the tears fall. He held me like if he loosened his grip we would fall into oblivion, holding on for dear life till it was nearly painful.

"Ya swear ya ain't gonna run nomore," he commanded into my ear and I nodded, holding onto him tighter. "Den I won't turn my back anymore."

I pulled my head away from him enough to stare up at his threatening face, seeing the sincerity but the savage brutality there. "From now on our place is heah. Wherever you came from before forget it. I'm a leadah of da Brooklyn newsboys and I would give my life fer dem. I give my life fer anybody who won't let me turn my back."

I wasn't sure what his words meant or held but I nodded nonetheless, inhaling all of what he was and what he wasn't, and knowing however much I hated pieces and bits that made him up I wouldn't want it any other way. Something cold slipped around my neck and once again I fingered the necklace that I didn't really remember throwing from me. "Dat necklace comes off again it bettah be from someone ripping it from yer throat."

"Ya threaten me wid a cane again ya bettah remember my face, cause it'll be da last one you see."

He chuckled, feeling the emphasis in my voice and for once he didn't doubt me as we clung to each other in the middle of the road, unsure what anything meant, unsure of what was, and knowing someday we just might. Feeling a strange glimmer of hope from everything around and inside us, feeling the colors of the world changing around us and in us. Aware that tomorrow things would be different. I prayed that this moment would not be the last of them as I felt the necklace burn against my chest and his heart beat against mine.

**A/N-** Hey ya'll, sorry it took so long, technology isn't my friend and I never could revise this chapter just right. Things have been crazy lately, between finals (I PASSED!) and the beginning of summer. But thank you for putting up with me!

**Shoutouts**

**Sirenn-** Thank you! I'm thrilled you like it. Sorry it took so long, my computer has been on strike lately and I kept revising this chapter. Never could get is just the way I wanted it to but I hope it's alright now. Anyway, I hope you keep reading and reviewing, but most of all liking the story.

**Morbidlyartistic**- There's still miles to go with them but I think they're going to start working it out for the better after this chapter, the crazy kids. And soon enough we'll find out what happened to Camelot. Thank you for the review, the feedback really helps, and I'm eternally grateful for it. Thanks again and I hope this chapter was good.

**Emba-** Thanks so much, it works with my attention span, can't have the same emotion for more than a few pages. Haha. They're working things out right now, trying to deal with their own bizarre emotions and maybe one day they can unite them. Who knows, maybe after that fight they'll chill out a bit and be able to work things out. Wait and see for Camelot news. Thank you for reviewing, I don't know how many times I can thank for it but I really appreciate it. Hope you liked this chapter.

**St.elmo-lover**- sorry about the non update strike, the computer has been protesting to working right but I promise cross my heart that the next chapter will be up by next week. Hey, your review boosts the numbers. Thanks so much for it, and I really hope this chapter was fine. Oh and Elmo is awesome! Big Bird is freaking scary though. J

**Scratch O'Brien**- Yup we have the community theatre too and our school's finally building a stage! The school's only eight years old though. I love that, or seeing a cowboy hat and remembering Footloose. I think we're doing Suessical the Musical next year, so crazy sets! Wow, Grease, oh noes, they've got greased hair those hoodlums. The school should tape one day of high school and show what goes down then. Poor kids. They should put 'risqué' things in that parent's house and see how they like it. anyway,,, yay! Thanks for loving that chapter, and I'm sorry this chapter took so long, the computer's been on the fritz. never got satisfied with this chapter for some reason. Thanks again!


	28. Chapter 28: Salem Tabboos

**Abstract Images, Chapter Twenty- Eight **

"It wouldn't have gotten me to Jersey." Pouting and complaining I slumped back into the wall and felt the indentations that were symbolic memorabilia to elbows and fists slamming into paper thin walls, and I shifted so I wouldn't be crumbling the wall any further even if its bruises were hardly an inch. An inch can be the gap between holding on and letting go and I was not ready to fade and disappear from a minor miscalculation.

He settled at the edge of the bunk, rearranging his suspenders and while he was not watching I slipped the coins under me, leaving my fingers with nothing to fiddle with. "But you could've gotten on that train," he argued with a smirk that claimed he had won.

"I could've walked back." It was a fatal rebuttal. His smile dropped and while his arms lowered the suspenders crept down his shoulders. He glared at me before scouring the mattress for the coins he had left behind, pressing against the mattress to blindly search for the coins that did not belong to the springs of the bed.

"Weah are dey?"

I looked up at him over my upright knees and through my crossed arms and innocently asked, "Weah's wad?"

"I know ya ain't stupid."

"Thank you, Spot."

"Weah'd you put em? Don't play innocent wid me Lani, ya haven't been innocent a day in yer life." Rising he stood above me and eyed my hands, the hands that carefully tightened around his change and when he stared at me I winked. It wasn't a dare. It wasn't a challenge. It was in triumph, in victory, because it was a distance he would not dare descend to.

"Conlon!" I shrieked as his hand slipped under me, prying at my hands as they wrestled together for the final claim for change. Again I shrieked, "Conlon! You'd pry a penny from a dead naked woman, wouldn't you?"

"If you was da dead naked woman I would," he replied with a devilish glint and as a precautious attempt for the crisis that might be lurking around the corner I jumped enough for him to snatch the money up and wave it victoriously above my head.

"Yer disgusting," I snapped and shot straight out for his abdomen but he grabbed my wrist and seized the other as I tried to retaliate. We locked forces and began another stalemate. For a helpless attempt at freedom I flailed my feet and pushed against his legs but in a final demonstration how he was physically stronger he threw me sideways into the mattress and left the wood to vibrate from the rapid reverberations. He pinned me with his arms on both sides of my shoulders and I rolled onto my back so to stare up at him and he crawled onto the mattress, beside me now.

"Wanna find out how disgusting I can be?" he whispered huskily and his fingers tapped along my side and left the trail of gooseflesh where his hands had been, the familiar tremors heightening as he played with my shirt. Throwing my weight into my leg I swung it into his side and it forced him upon his back as I reversed our positions.

Leaning in closer to him the breath seeped through my stained lips and secretively I smiled. "Nobody wants to see the ugly duckling on his mating call."

His eyebrows arched amusedly and his arms grasped my waist and pulled me towards him in an impolite and crude position. My hair was falling from its pin and it swam in a dark curtain around him. His hand reached to brush a stray piece of hair behind my ear and I blew the remnants away.

"You look a lil bit like my muddah wid yer hair like dat," he said quietly as he twirled a strand between his fingers and my smile was slow and unsure as I watched him and the willing vulnerability he shed upon us. His soft smile was reassuring.

"Yer muddah always had her hair messed," Jack recalled fondly as he reappeared from the lair he had lurked in and sat upon the edge of the bed in a forcefully intruding way, his eyes darkening as he watched me lie upon him and determinedly I stared back, stubbornly refusing to move and justify the need for embarrassment. Spot gently but firmly pushed me off him and straightened up with the dignity he still had, and I laid there in surprise, trying to determine if Spot felt empathy for the boys watching our scandalous behavior.

As our impolite position faded and memories of women in another life left with them Jack officially asked, "Did you hear about the whores murdering those tightwads?"

Spot lashed out his fiery monologue about the "roles changing…those three broads will probably be pardoned because of their femininity". I looked up to catch Jack's eye, wondering if he was implying anything more with the instantaneous reminder of the 'whores'. He was watching me seemingly without purpose and I stared back, afraid of all he thought. Color tinted my cheeks from the lack of propriety I had shown, shaming him. I did not miss the silent glare he beat on Spot either.

"Kelly, if you have a problem you might as well just spit it out," he finally snapped, tired of silent glares he had seemed oblivious to. But Spot was never really unaware of anything. Sometimes he just chose to be.

He seemed chewing over what to say, to frailly balance careful brotherhoods but in the end really had nothing that sang of reason or would douse a violent argument and keep him from pulling further away. "Yer right Spot. They'll probably get pardoned."

"Jack?"

The name was not ours but the voice belonged to all of us, and simultaneously the three of this cramped on the small mattress looked up. He shifted from side to side, looking around at all of us, settling on familiar and encouraging faces for support. I nodded to him, silently urging for Snipeshooter to pose his questions. I sensed Spots impatience already. Gently I squeezed his arm, begging for his silence. Jack was more than the leader of the newsboys, especially these days. He was the eldest brother, the fatherly figure, the highest authority where his word was law. He was regarded more of an idol than a man. He was hero worshipped, especially by the younger children. If Jack ever prided himself in anything it was that he was approachable, the man that would share his last scrap of food, give his life for, and set straight anybody that crossed his path and needed his guidance. But now Snipeshooter was wary.

More bothered by this sudden discrepancy than he was letting on Jack inquired, "Wads up, Snipe?"

Eventually he turned from Spot and I and blurted, "Wads wrong wid Race?" Again I held onto Spot, silently pleading for his patience and understanding; I felt more than saw him staring straight at Snipeshooter, sizing him up, piercing him. "He's acting all crazy with them dark circles. He won't tawk to no one and starts talking to himself sometimes. Jack, you told me that's what crazy people do. Remember the man in the park?"

"Yeah I remember, Snipe," Jack responded slowly and his mind worked quicker than any syllable for an explanation. "Know how you been coming home all grumpy and quiet?"

"I'm just tired out, Jack."

"I know that, kid, I ain't scolding you," he eased his worries before continuing. "Race is just tired out too and that's how he's handling himself."

"I tawk to Boots though. And I tawk to you when you make me."

"Race is tawkin to Camelot right now. And he'll tawk ta me when I make him," Jack grinned encouragingly for a tiny smile from our smaller counterpart. "He's looking after our sick boys and our girl."

"He's sad Camelot's sad," Snipeshooter restated and Jack traded glances with us, unsure how to react to this statement. "Gee, I hope I never get dat crazy cause of a goil."

"I'll pray for ya, kid," Spot sighed and grinned despite my indignant stares.

"I hope you do someday Snipe, cause den you'll know how much goils are better den you pigs and want nothing more than to make us happy," I announced triumphantly to their annoyed glares and shaking his head at the antics of his elders Snipe meandered away, probably off to deliver the news to his comrades that anxiously awaited his return.

Jokes and snipes were made at Racetrack in his absence, and Spot's angry threats 'if he even looks at her da wrong way' 'I catch dat newsie of yers putting his hands on her I'll…' were all in an illusion for everything we didn't want to admit. The gratefulness that he was staying behind, looking over all of them, including Camelot, that he remained with her when her leader and her brother couldn't was immeasurable. It kept him from drinking. It kept him eating. It kept him from furious random bursts of anger in incoherent Italian.

"Nobody knows wad yer saying," I enunciated slowly, sounding out every syllable as he drowned me with cynical eyes and promising glares, too absorbed in moaning, groaning, and hollering in a language familiar to our ears but unintelligible.

"Something bout cowboys." Mush's eyebrows were knitted with thought. Maybe that's what his susceptible ears heard, or maybe that's what he was feigning to hear when really he understood exactly what he meant. I shook myself from the paranoid haze, remembering this wasn't an elaborate game to drive me insane.

"Weah's Spot?" spontaneously Blink snapped, a beastly growl that held more implications than I could count, or wanted to. Raising my eyebrows I didn't respond, only to continue cleaning the dirt gritted beneath my nails with a borrowed switchblade, understanding now why he had been watching me as the clock chimed nine. Perhaps if I ignored him long enough he would go away. Or at least leave the subject. Yet once again, like how it began, I was encompassed in a room with the three musketeers, and like how it used to be Racetrack was pacing the floorboards and shouting to nobody but himself in quick Italian, Mush sitting on a crate silently as Blink was perched upon a dilapidated desk, temperamental and domineering, still waiting for an answer. I was too comfortable upon the floor with my knees upright, ignoring him in silence. It was unfamiliar territory, here in Midtown, a place we had been warned to keep our heads on straight and our eyes peeled, prepared to react on the lightest implications, the smallest threats. We were under 'political immunity' but this wasn't our territory, and this wasn't our leaders' kingdom.

Patiently I set the blade down and examined my newly whitened nails. I gazed directly at him and announced, "I don't know."

"All dat fer 'I dunno," Mush cackled, nearly falling from him makeshift chair as he struggled to contain his laughter. Blink's pride seemed to suffer more than his quest for answers.

"I'm sure you do know."

"And wad, pray tell, is dat supposed to mean?" The suggestions were loud and clear. It was torture not to raise my voice, keep it calm while the aggression waded just beneath the surface but I had been unofficially trained in this art of danger from men that weren't aware I was mimicking them. He stared straight back, unflinching. But he had sensed the danger sparkling like electricity in the air, the tension so thick it was slowly suffocating us all. Racetrack had even stopped his pacing, and Mush his snickering for a bated breath silence, memories urging them to intervene but they were too fascinated, like the accident that you know is coming and can't look away from.

He sensed the fragile glass we were walking on. He hopped off the desk, deliberately planting his feet with efforts to prove he did not fear the next step he took as he strode before me, scowling down. Uncomfortable with the positions of dominance and submission I remained staring up at him, curious myself with his motives. "I think ya know wad it means, Venice."

"I promise you I do not. Would you care to enlighten me?"

He squatted down until we were eye level, his eye boring into mine, and for a second I came close to really fearing this one eyed newsboy. "Dis is just da foist fight you'll loose if yer really his goil."

Suddenly the aggression was overwhelming, heat burning my face. "I have never lost a fight in my life, and I ain't planning on starting now."

His grin was grim, sinister almost, a break in tension that just added more. "What are we to you, Venice? Amusing little trinkets you take out of your fancy box when it suits ya? Ya don't want friends, ya don't want family, ya want people ya can mold to fit yer purposes. Ya want somebody to back ya up in a fight and who ya can amuse yerself wid, but when it comes to things dat mattah, when push comes to shove, and we're straining ourselves to look out for you, we'se just da toys ya put up on yer shelf when ya don't want us around anymore."

"Don't tell me wad I do or don't want," I hissed, nausea nearly tipping me over. It was getting hotter in here. My eyes were getting brighter in here.

"Cause I know exactly wad ya want and who ya are."

"No you don't." It wasn't me anymore, but Racetrack who was glowering down at him and tentatively drifting between us and searching for some key of where to lay his loyalty. "Ven's not like dat, and you know it."

"Tell em Ven. Tell him he's got it wrong." I looked to Mush, who was standing now, insecurity lining his doe eyes and vulnerability dripping in his orphaned voice. It did not take intuition to see the sureness he watched me with. Or the uncertainty I stared back at him with.

Protests lined my lips. Yet the truth wrangled its way through me. I wanted friends. I wanted family. When they said and did all the right things, overlooking that people are imperfect, that which makes them beautiful and human, and don't really act how you expect or want them to. As it is with anybody else there's a certain mold in my mind, determining their reactions, annoyed, even angry when they didn't meet them and entirely altered the course, throwing me into a spiraling downhill slope into vulnerability and instability. I looked away. The lights are too bright in here. It's way too loud in here.

Using the wall to give me the leverage and support to stand, Blink rose with me. I wobbled past him, Mush's injured voice stopping me. "Where are you going? He's got it wrong."

Inhaling deeply I settled the nausea that was rising, tried to cool my blazing forehead and quell the throbbing of my mind. Tried to breathe. But everything was happening way too quickly. I had lost control. I had given it up for an exchange of intimacy and now all the fears and gaps in explanations I knew were inevitable were ganging up against me. My mouth was dry but I managed, "I don't have to say anything. I'm not going to prove myself when you have no right to question me."

"Weah are you going?" There was something maniacal in Blink's eyes as he hissed and steamed at me. There was something insane in that tiny grin of his. Quickly I backed away, reaching for the stair railing but he caught my other arm.

"Blink let go." I wanted to tear my own hair out at the fear that trembled my voice, which made it shake and sound so desperate. I pulled on the railing and he pulled back, satisfied with the effect he was having on me.

"He's just a liddle upset," Mush reasoned, looking as lost as a puppy left out in the rain. "We all are. We told ya a thousand times ovah wad kind of man Spot was. It's obvious ya didn't listen. We'se worried, dats all."

"Ya took da woids right outta my mouth." The sarcasm in Blink's voice was biting. I flinched hard. "I'se just tired of protecting somebody who obviously don't give a damn about us."

"She nevah did anything to make ya think dat," Racetrack snapped, his temper being tested for the lines Blink was crossing. He had already stepped a mile over that line, that place that wasn't his, a step he shouldn't have taken, ruining a sacred brotherhood and sisterhood that not even blood or death could ruin. There is an unspeakable, unbreakable bond between those who have suffered and shared the same roof, the same toils, the same burdens, for those who have seen more than most and more than they themselves are willing to admit.

"A lamb can take yer head. Ya didn't see it. But it's still betrayal."

The metaphorical phrases compressed my heart until I could hardly breathe. If I stood here and listened to his presumptions, to watch his face, I wasn't sure what I'd do, and didn't trust myself enough to stand there anymore. It was simple enough to make for the stairs, to get up the first few. I never had a chance for the next step. He grabbed me around the waist, pulling me down as I fought gravity and every social law that impresses the impossibilities of fighting a man on strength alone. Groaning and grunting finally I gave in. And I screamed. A high pitched frightening wail that was the shriek of this betrayal. I screamed again. Racetrack's and Mush's yells were rougher, lower, harmonizing as my feet grabbed for the stairs, lifting as he pulled me from them and pushed me from the first step onto the floor. He towered over and his broken gaze blazed, a satisfied smile pulling on his mouth. That insane part was shadowing his entire face, morphing it into something ugly.

Cackling he began to lower himself towards me with unknown intentions but Racetrack yanked him by the collar, bringing the taller boy around to look at him. "For all da years I have known you I've never seen you act like dis. You touch her one more time and I'll forget the lives we had together."

"So after all dis, yer siding with her?"

"It ain't about sides, Blink. It's about madness and I ain't gonna defend it."

"I won't either."

Their positions stated, Mush and Race scowled at Blink as footsteps thundered the floor above and anxious faces appeared at the top of the stairs. Taking them two at a time, the leaders of the respective boroughs tumbled down the stairs.

Spot knelt next to me, concern creasing his forehead as that penetrating gaze recognized my fear, a steely calm overcoming him. Jack's booming voice echoed throughout the room, demanding of the boys, "Why'd she scream?"

"I fell." It was a blatant lie. There were no pretenses or surface intentions and I felt Spot's anger like white-hot-iron upon my heated skin; it was directed everywhere. At the reasons for my screams, at the boys' cowardice, and at me for lying to him.

"Don't lie ta me." His voice was a whisper.

"She didn't," Jack snapped. "She lied ta me. One last chance Venice and ya better give me da truth."

Racetrack and I came to an understanding as we stared at each other. We wouldn't let Blink fall. The consequences would be innumerable. And faults couldn't be held for one moment of shame.

"Blink got a lil' out of line," Race began in his good-natured countenance but Jack's cold glare had him talk a little faster. "Ya know us, we'se like family. For how much we get along dere's gonna be our weight in fights. Venice and Blink just got a liddle hot tempered dats all."

"About?" Jack prompted. Maybe he could tell Racetrack wasn't telling the whole story. He fumbled and this time I was ready for lies.

"Me wearing men's clothes. After wad happened wid da whores he thinks people might get da wrong idea…"

"Like she's looking for women's rights, if dats why da dames killed. Or she's mocking da fallen," Mush quickly expanded, a wonderful lie and we were fast to hide our surprise with the ease in which he lied to his leader.

"Right. I think dats stupid cause there ain't no reason we can't wear a pair of trousers and damn right I want my female friends to have more rights than we've got now. He told me I was risking too much and we started yelling. Before ya knew it I was storming up da stairs and he was trying to stop me. We both ended up loosing our balance and tripping each other up. London Bridge is falling down." It was a simple delivery of innocent auras and convincing monologues.

Jack looked at Blink for confirmation. "Dat right?"

Kid glanced at me from the corner of his eye, quietly murmuring "'s right."

"With you screaming like a banshee I was sure ya was being beaten or raped and now I heah dat you've just fallen down. Now I'm sweating from relief but if ya scream like dat again ya bettah be bleeding, hoit, raped, or dying or I'm gonna do a liddle screaming of my own," Jack threatened.

In the wonderful world of threats he would keep as promises I almost argued but checked myself and sulkily murmured, "Yes sir."

He eyed me darkly. Racetrack and Mush's shoulders trembled with gleeful laughter at the irony at me being the one to get called out. There's friendship for you and the unjust fate of taking the fall for a momentarily insane friend.

"Our stairs are pretty narrow. The architects seemed to forget we needed to get to the second story. Last minute addition." I wasn't sure if Honcho was joking or not. He tapped the staircase fondly. "Many a newsie has gotten hurt on this boy. I'm proud to have Manhattan children being the next to fall and join our elite club."

"You're insane," Jack sighed, patting his shoulder. "But thank you."

"Are you hurt?" Honcho continued, glancing from the two of us and his slight grimace, so quick you had to be looking for it to see it, told me he didn't believe a word of the lie that had spewed so easily from us. All his blame was being placed upon Blink, its rightful owner. He looked away. I stared directly at him.

"He asked you a question," Jack said sharply.

"No," I murmured as my side gave a particularly painful throb. A bruise was nothing to burden them with. Blink wouldn't be breaking his vow of silence anytime soon, as sanity came with a quick overdose and shame prohibited him from looking at me.

"Let's keep it that way," Honcho sighed, turning again to Jack. "I'm glad you came. We've decided a lot."

"I'm glad you're still with us."

"I'll always be. I'm going to have Slither and Bandit accompany you back home," Honcho declared with a finality that nearly silenced Jack and Spot's protests, a single hand held up enough to have them both agree. He called them from above, with a slight murmur of consent as a reply.

Before I tried to move Spot's hand was in mine, helping me to my feet and not letting go even when I was balanced. Sincerely I looked at him. "I'm fine." He squeezed my hand tighter, sensing the insincerity in my sincerity. I wanted to pull away from him, not only because of Honcho's curious appraisal and the others' exasperated and protective looks, but because I knew I was shaking and if he couldn't see it I knew he felt the vibrations.

"Hey boys, back so soon." A girl's goofy grin had me captivated, but I was the only one taken aback.

Jack grinned, "We couldn't stay away."

"You and Slither walk them back to their lodging house," Honcho ordered and she nodded, tying the black cloth tighter around her eyes only to leave her dark eyes peering out at us through gracefully cut holes. She saluted as Slither accepted his duties solemnly, gliding out of the lodging house gracefully, never seeming to touch the floor, holding the door open for us. With a sideways look at Racetrack (who had the courtesy to scrunch his face up with rolled eyes) I buried my snickers and followed the others out of the house.

Spot slowed, allowing the others to move ahead of us, and I walked a little faster, knowing exactly what he would accuse me of, what he would accuse Blink of and what his decision would be for an already condemned man. Honcho stood at the doorway, watching us until we turned the corner and we were out of sight, but probably not out of mind.

Before he could blatantly challenge my story I said, "I didn't know there were girls in Midtown."

"Midtown has the most women," he said casually, not declaring my ignorance for once. "Got the most in positions of power as well."

"Wads Bandit?"

"She's his birdie, as Brooklyn says. His spy. One of his guards too. Honcho's right hand's a woman and so is one of his best fighters. And they've got some of the best fighters. Besides Brooklyn of course."

"Of course."

"Wipe dat smirk off your face."

"I'm not smirking." Despite the darkness, my smile was evident for his pride in his territory.

"Uh-huh," he said, not believing a word I said.

"Spot!" Bandit called from where she walked beside Jack. "Kelly says you took out Axe!"

"Damn well did." Ah, there's that arrogance he's famed for.

"Well get your hide over here and tell me about it."

He glanced at me and I pushed him slightly towards them, relieved I could be free of him before the conversation turned serious. He nodded, running to catch up with them and already giving a recount of an embellished fight. Too pleased with his courtesy in looking to me first I did not feel the waves of jealousy as I walked on. It did not take long before Racetrack was dropping back, leaving his conversation to walk beside me before Slither could close in. We left him walking on the edges, alert and paranoid, constantly doing a head count and sheepherding anybody who got too far from our jolly band.

His eyes were serious and concerned as he stopped me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." I brushed past him, fighting back any restraints that were now pressing for my openness. He fell beside me, silent and pressuring. "It was nice of Honcho to send out his birdies for us."

"Yeah well there would've been a problem if he didn't," Racetrack casually dismissed it and curiously I peered up at him, waiting for him to expand this until I could grasp upon words and methods I understood. It was a slow realization as he remembered their delicate society was still unfamiliar to me, and aware he now had my attention he took his dramatic time. "It's a golden rule here that if a newsie is invited into another territory on terms of business, the host sends escorts back to their home when everything is finished with. It's the same even on unannounced business, or a leisurely visit, but that's more common courtesy and won't be scorned as much if they don't than if they didn't after a business call. There are particulars too: if a woman goes into another borough they're escorted back home under every and any circumstance. A woman guard never goes alone at night. If the meeting was not planned nor wanted, it's still custom to at least take them as far as the border of both territories."

"But what if the boroughs aren't next to each other?"

"Closest to home for the visitor," Racetrack responded readily.

"Whoever says newsies are savages doesn't have any idea what they're talking about."

"No, no they don't," he returned, taking a long drag on his cigarette and hungrily I watched it fall free from his lips.

"Anything else I have to know?"

"You know, the usual, don't sell on anybody else's territory or pick fights with them. Oh, and courting a newsie from a different borough, or even befriending them, requires the agreement of both leaders."

"Sorry?" I was coughing and spluttering, watching him incredulously. "I have to get Jack's permission to talk to somebody in another territory."

"It ain't a bad thing, Venice. It sounds ridiculous at face value but think harder. Let's say you wanted to meet Bandit for lunch, out of Manhattan. First, Jack will want to know where you are, as a matter of safety. And second, say she killed someone, you have a right to know that, and so does Jack. It's all in terms of safety."

"What isn't?" I sighed, but there were no accurate protests I could make without sounding childish. Instead I settled for waving to Slither, who had dropped closer and closer to us. Embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping he slithered away.

A flash of red and vibrant colors in an obsolete place, the tiniest imbalances that was so instantaneous the shape couldn't be distinguished from the surroundings. There was no getting past the arm Racetrack had thrust before me and still we were edging closer as she rebounded to her feet. Swiftly Jack stepped before her.

A spotlight of vibrancy punctuated this insipid street, training our eyes and questioning delusions but as I squinted through the aphonic street the light pulse of color had fallen from a crescendo collision with Jack and was now rebounding gracefully to her feet and with the twinkle of bells she darted forward. Jack quickly recovered from the head on collision and side stepped her, taking hold of her upper arms and she stopped struggling in vain, her hands resting on his forearms.

"A face pe plac la, domn," she whimpered with panic tracing her melodic voice. Her voice grew and hysteria befriended it. "A permite energie. A permite energie sau ajutor!"

The unfamiliar language played upon our ears with the alluring taste of foreignism, of enigmatic secrets just waiting to be decoded. Concoctions of disgust and intrigue danced upon the others' faces like the playful shadows. Torn between propriety, attraction, and lauds for the ostracized, her peculiar clothing impressed us even more- a bright red full tribal skirt swung around her, baring her abdomen (I would have to remind Spot of it later, for revisions of ladylike), a black and gold scarf wrapped around her hips with beads dangling from it, red fabric wrapped around her chest, plunging too far, sequins and beads adorning the front and wide sleeves falling to her elbows. Gold chiming bracelets played on her wrists, one intricate pattern extending over her hand to where a single gold ring was slipped over her finger, connected to the rest of it.

"Saviya?" His tone rejected inquiries, emphasized outrage. In a sharp reflex he yanked her from Jack's firm hold, supporting her before she had the chance to fall, adopting Jack's stance as she whimpered her mantra beneath her breath, "A face pe plac la, domn."

"Saviya, calm down. It's me. Acesta este eu," he said, a language I did not understand flowing easily, even showing his urgency.

"Dimutru." Even in the tenebrous night apparent relief surged through her, so great that her knees buckled and she fell tragically to the ground. An aura of helplessness surrounded her as she took his hands, resting her forehead against them, the red veil she had draped over her long black hair billowing softly in the breeze.

"Ce is afarab acoloa?" he demanded, gazing through the darkness and his eyes could not harpoon what was far away, lurking and slinking, waiting for hopelessness to seize her and bring her helplessly to it. She shook her head so the stale trail of tears showed brightly and he lowered himself till he was kneeling, cupping his hands around her cheeks, communicating silently to her and she rested her hand against his.

"Acolo is nu nume pentru it. I a putea nu a fi cu tu. It's interzis," she moaned, her voice lost in the vast mirage of the world. Frail and delicate her words had lost all strength in them as she withered before us.

"Poţi tu manifestare eu?"

The tiniest pulses of hope flashed in her as she gazed up at him, not truly daring to believe anything that came from his silver tongue. He rose to his feet, pulling her up as well and tentatively she stared at the rest of us. "Familie."

Nodding she took a sweeping step and bounded elegantly away, Spot following her and already having trouble matching her speed, his natural balance assisting him. Jack called out, "Spot!"

"We need your help," he called over his shoulder and I bounded after him, skipping through the streets into places we didn't know, for a girl nobody knew, and a language we had never heard. The urgency became the tension that electrified the air around us, closely feeling her desperation.

Our soft footsteps followed long ago fallen heroes who left no legacy, discarded trash now lining the dilapidated buildings that shattered around us. The streets had grown to dirt and the buildings to ruins for a piece of the city I had never dared to explore. Once the shadows grew longer I moved closer to Racetrack who carefully kept us together, just as grateful for the contact comfort. Silence stalked our brisk pace, punctuated by the bells and trinkets of Saviya and the heavy breathing that began to rise and fall as one.

Mob mentality encompassed the edge of the street, the bodies so thick we couldn't see anything they were surrounding like vultures upon their prey, however carefully they kept their distance just in case their victim was still biting. Slowing to a trot, and then a less conspicuous walk, we were lead towards the crowd with anxiety building in each step for the suspenseful melodrama as the night thickened and the stars were clouded over, low oil lights casting the shadows for a puppet theater nobody would accept, the shadow people too close to each other, blending until they were one in the same, flowing with the liquidity elegance that surpassed skin, bone, and mind. I shifted closer to Racetrack as Mush and Blink closed our ranks, Spot and Jack leading the way with Saviya as their point, the North Star for every lost child searching for their way home. Instead, we were being knowingly lead into disaster, not away from it. It was something I was accustomed to, something I would be deprived of and suffer an extreme relapse if peace and tranquility ever replaced immediate danger.

Simultaneously Racetrack and I nudged each other, goofily grinning before returning to the subject of our humor, his bright face scanning the crowd until their eyes reflected him, and only him. Shadows veiled him and rejected him, and he became their beacon, maybe even a beacon of hope. We wouldn't know until he opened his mouth. "Friends, family, comrades," he began, his voice a rich melody. "In your hearts you knew to come here tonight, were sent by some invisible force we have to put our faith in. You will be rewarded for that. Someday, somewhere, for rejecting what has spread through our society like a poison, invading the dreams and desires of our daughters, seducing our sons, who are weak to temptation, and those temptress' must be removed. We will not allow our innocents to be broken!"

Cheers erupted in the great unknown and the faintest snickers sent Jack's disapproving glare to silence Mush, and even Racetrack was caught scowling. I raised my eyebrows to him and he returned my gesture, shaking his head in a saddened disbelief but murmured from the side of his mouth, "they hear him laughing the lunatics might lynch him."

Silently I agreed but before I had the chance to voice my approval his harmonious but dangerous voice quieted all conversation. "There are seven deadly sins. Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. These creatures display them all. They are the temptresses we fear, doing as they please and taking the money of hard working citizens of this great nation, not sparing a penny, doing nothing for the world in which we reside. Their spectacles are all in the name of wrath, constantly competing with one another and gazing at superficially lovely people with hate in their hearts. Pride dictates their refusal to leave when they were told do. The rest is for your own interpretation. However, these animals mock our Lord."

Few of us had been exposed to religion but for the nuns that offered us food every morning. We had left our parents' homes too young, had given up on faith for every horror we had seen or resumed a belief we rarely put into practice.

"Our mighty Lord destroyed Sodom for their sins. The city was reduced to its rightful place: ash. The ash from Hell. What right do we have as God's children to allow the Devil to dance among us?"

Mighty cheers rippled through the crowd, the sound equal to three times the people and I damned Spot a thousand times over for making me long to stand beside him now, for that dependency of wanting him in the tiniest spaces and the most terrible places. I sought him out, glancing over Blink's outraged face and Mush's murmurs of "this is why I never took up religion" to Jack's face where thoughts and plans were already rotating. Spot was angled away, but I felt his temper pulsating in the air.

"So what should we do about those who live among us, destroying our values and morals, and mocking the name of our Lord? We shall return them to where they hailed from. Ash!"

Vivacious cheers broke out amongst the crowd; however, some came hesitantly, urged on by the men with guns walking amongst the crowd. Discreetly I moved away from Racetrack, slowly edging towards a opening in the mob. Firmly he grabbed my arm and I glanced over my shoulder. "Be careful," he hissed but did not halt my adventures, instead joining me in them and together we managed to nudge an indent into the crowd, enough to have a front line view of the tragedies.

Three women, two young, one old, and a young man were pushed from the building behind them, terror stricken in their eyes except for the elderly one, who raised her head above it all, her light eyes signifying blindness. The wooden pole shone in the firelight.

"No," I murmured. Denial.

"No," Race hissed.

"No," she screeched, falling to the ground as fate overwhelmed her, pulling at a man's suit. He ripped it away from her, disgusted. Trembling she moaned, "No, please."

"Help her to her feet," their ringleader said curtly.

Pulled to her feet she was tossed towards the others at the wide wooden stake, straw and paper littering the ground in a medieval form of ignorance and torture. My hand to my mouth I watched wide eyed and terror stricken, grieved and helpless as a rope was tightly pulled around the four of them. None of them fought. They had given up a long time ago.

"The fool," Racetrack growled and I followed where his eyes had been trained, the product of ripples of murmurs. There Kid Blink stood in all his pride and glory, masked by a plain white plaster face, produced from seemingly nowhere. I knew that the children innocently created the masks to hide their scruffy faces in games and now because of fear. Blink stood upon the barrels, the makeshift platform and bowed generously towards the crowd, turning to offer his hand to their atrocious, sadistic leader.

He smirked and nodded along with the rest of them as Blink waved his hands in a rhythmic time step, shortly saying, "Very lovely. Now get off."

Blink shook his finger towards the man and ripped his fingers away from his mouth, a universal sign for him to smile. Hatred was sent from the man. "Who are you?"

He spun from his reach, standing upon his head for the seconds his balance let him, spinning again and doing a pirouette. Laughter followed him, amused faces turning away from the victims as the man reached for Blink in an amusing spectacle. Every time the boy somehow escaped. All humor had escaped from him now. "Get off my stage, before you become the condemned."

In surprise and mock horror Blink put his hands over his masks' mouth. The crowd's pleasure was dimming, apprehensively watching the man now as finally they realized this wasn't a theatrical gimmick. In a swift second his bowler hat was gone and Blink was tip toeing in it, redeeming himself to the crowd.

"The fool."

This time Racetrack followed my eyes, angling away from Kid Blink and his breath came out sharply as fear tingled through me, pinpricking my skin like wet white-hot needles. I clenched my jaw firmly, refusing to cry out as I tensed up, watching him, watching how stealthily he vibrated in the shadows, rolling in and out of them and determinedly working on the ropes that tied them to their death.

"No!" His voice roared throughout the street and ricocheted for an echo a hundred times worse and as one the crowd winced, focusing on the disturbance. Few eyes were trained to him in surprise and outrage before Jack's muscular arms forced two men away, stumbling through the crowd and into a tense group of other gentlemen.

It was a spontaneous chain reaction of split second maneuvers before the crowd erupted into anarchy and hostility, neighbor turning against neighbor for reasons they couldn't understand. Simple accidental shoves catalyzed a sprawling brawl. Child screeched for mother and mother screamed for child, men shouting for fair fights and guards demanding order, knowing they'd never achieve it.

I didn't see them coming before I had fallen to the floor, not remembering how I had gotten there and hardly feeling the throbbing of my side from where I had fallen. I scanned the corner for familiar faces, for Racetrack's, but men got before him as he struggled towards me. It was a cry of "Racetrack!" before I saw him no more, before we were separated by the thickets of men who didn't know what they were fighting for. Remembering the man in the riot and the dangers of being trampled upon on the floor I dragged myself to my feet, stumbling around, looking for him and seeing nothing. I called his name out again before accepting that I was alone in a sea of hostile fists and ferocious faces.

My legs took me towards the back, where I had to dodge the worst fights and the harshest shoves, skillfully managing to get at the very back- I was insignificant in their minds. Picking up a shard of broken glass I stumbled towards the rope, slitting the ties, working slowly but surely. Their grateful eyes noticed me and his surprised face found mine. For once I could not read him, could not be sure if there was anger brimming in his deep blues.

"Venice, what are you doing here?" Once I spoke I knew it was fear.

"I'm going to help you save them," I announced finally and he opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it again. There was no time for arguments. And secretly he knew he waned me there, wanted someone, needed someone to help him.

"Thank you," the man groaned, appreciation glowing in his eyes.

"You're not out yet," I dismissed him briskly. Seconds turned into minutes until the rope fell around our feet and they stumbled out.

"Run," he ordered, despite the adoration that was floating towards us. "Don't stop to fight and don't look behind you."

Taking his advice to heart they sped off.

Vicious blows caught me off guard and I was sent spiraling towards the ground, rolling out of the way immediately before another blow could damage me further. The warm and trickling sensation of blood was already trickling from my forehead, the throbbing persisting. I rolled again out of the way of the bar, rebounding to my feet, grabbing for anything as I was backed against the wall, their ringleader holding an iron bar high over my head. Resignation spread slowly like a disease, intoxicating, and I relaxed, accepting it as it moved down towards me.

Again I was knocked off my feet, stumbling and groaning as Spot's golden hair flailed in the night. His free hand pushed me away. "Go!"

"I'm not leaving you."

"I'm not asking you to." He glanced down as their dictator regained his senses and we knew we had no time. "Just don't let me see you, cause then I'll never see my next blow coming." My smile was absent as I stumbled and crawled through the brawls that circulated in the air, every ounce of ladylike helplessness crumbling with a few words. For once there was not the lure of the forbidden, there was not the order to remain home with needlepoint. It was a small victory but a triumph just the same.

Idealistic and promising reflexes pulled me through the torrents as for once luck came my way and I was unharmed and untouchable, prevailing. I stood there, unsure what to do as everything rushed in and out around me with the pulse of life.

Fighting and the skills attributed to the most apt are sometimes overlooked for the larger triumph. Broad swinging fists are bragged about first, but the awareness of a brawl should gain more than its due. Especially when a two dozen like brawls dance around peripheral vision, for when every sense is at its breaking point every moment's alertness is a rare trick. Distraction prevailed. I stumbled again, the cut from moments ago throbbing like it had exploded and reinvented himself, deepening and opening as colors that didn't exist swam before me. Pressing a fist against the wound, trying to keep the pressure from building more than my skull could take, I searched for my assailant, groping around, scanning faces. There's no sign to point to a hit and run attack, nothing to show the assailant, but there's always a sense, an invisible threadlike substance that connects to every fiber of you, of the victim, to their assailant, the thread cut as it is identified. My thread danced and circled around my feet, below and past me now.

Glimpses of bright white reigned against the dismal colors, contrasting, distracting those who did not need their attention, and focusing more attention on her from people she didn't want noticing her there. Rarely did her feet peer out of the swirling skirt, dancing a dangerous duet between two men ceaselessly reaching for her. Those elegant and sharp movements as she dodged their blows and retaliated was with the grace of a born fighter. But there was something tense and awkward that you had to look to find, lurking beneath the surface, like every movement pained her, physically or mentally.

With a helpless and imminent failure when exhaustion prevailed over alertness she was forced spiraling to the ground, raising a pointless arm in self defense. They swarmed towards her like hyenas judging their wounded prey. I stepped forward, unsure if my intervention would make things better or all the worse (it was usually the latter).

Sharply one man said, "Leave her. There are bigger fish to catch."

A black veil fell before her as they walked away, leaving her discarded and alone on the ground without another thought. I stepped closer, now noticing an awful bruise that protruded from her side to her abdomen, black and purple in its severity. She couldn't have seen more than my boots approaching her, couldn't have felt more than a slight tremor in the vibrations of the city. And yet suddenly she was on her hands and toes, giving her that push before she launched at me and passed me, her nails skinning my neck as she passed. I spun where I stood, searching her out, looking for the white that protruded more than any red that could be spilling. Like a ghost, translucent and invincible, she knocked me off my feet and the grainy cobble stone dug hard at me. I crawled backwards, away from her as she stood lingering above me, for ominous theatrics or for hesitations, but she stood as I crawled away from her. Her feet were silent as she followed me eerily slowly, but the wind billowing her long skirt was enough for me to identify her, to feel her following me. Her brilliant white shades were dimmer now, my eyes burning from the dirt and the dust that had found their home there, and blindly I crawled against the cobblestone and she paced along side me, a lioness, a prowess, claiming her territory and her kill.

Fingering for any weapon finally I gave up and stumbled to my feet, feeling shoulders rubbed, the unwanted chemicals in my eyes producing tears that smudged the dirt on my face. I raised my fist, rapidly blinking away any dirt.

"First rule of fighting…" Her voice lingered around me, coming from all directions and I span, not knowing where to look. Finally I felt a wisp of hair. I launched my fist there, not feeling anything. Her voice tickled my ear, from another direction, "Never take your eyes off your assailant".

Her lilting, mocking laughter was too soft and musical to be threatening or maniacal, and it made it all the more frightening. I hit behind me, not getting anything but a fistful of air. Her voice reverberated from all around me. "Second rule of fighting…"

She couldn't be touched, couldn't be hit, she was infinite. I span rapidly around in a circle. Vertigo. The next hit got my arm. It was my own arm, trying to stir myself into action, barriers of sanity falling around me. Could she be some awful product of an overactive and overly burdened imagination?

Her voice came again, too separate from my own. "Never show your weakness."

It was too ethereal, too surreal, stereotypes fading from reality. Her voice was too feminine. It was not the husky voice of an opponent. Anger trembled beneath her voice, a harshness at my ignorance as she said, "Stop blinking! You're letting me see your own weakness. I know you're blinded."

Infuriated I threw myself in all directions at once, reaching for anything and everything, protests lining the air from wherever I hit. I was thrown off balance again, stumbling back, a tiny hand encircling my throat and pushing me back. I hit the wall hard.

I screamed. The frigid water burned as it slid down me and her rhythmic voice repeating, "open your eyes. Look at me" made my skin prick and open. I struggled for a moment before tilting my head up, trying to open my eyes as tiny droplets sunk into them, a sharp sensation I hardly ever felt. The water poured down and I trembled beneath it, my knees buckling. I slid to the ground, my knees hitting it hard, but she dragged my shirt up. Blinking repeatedly the dirt cleared enough for vision.

She peered down at me as I was dragged up and forced against the wall, shivering and trembling, her smaller body attempting to shield mine, everything billowing in the wind. There was a missing link all along, because two realities didn't match, didn't fit together. Her eyes were the missing link to identification in the dark, turbulent air. With my vision returned I saw what she had tried to shield through the black veil that the wind was pulling away. The color was something I couldn't forget, but it was in the haunted backdrop that was forgotten for something more immediate, fire and adrenaline burning there, a rage she would never stop wrestling with. Her animosity glowered on me as something silver unsheathed and pressed against the frantic throbbing of an unbelieving vein.

"What are you doing?" Emotion trembled my voice, fear making it unnaturally high and her wince was involuntary and more pronounced than my shivering. "No Esmeralda, you know who I am." Disbelief overpowered reason as her eyes jumped frantically to all sides, settling back on me, searching my face. I squealed out, "No, do you know what you're doing? No, no, no…"

"Shut up," she hissed, shaking me as my mantra continued beneath my breath. "Shut up, do you hear me?" she growled quietly. She pushed me harder against the wall, for attention or out of anger I did not know. "I'm saving your life."

She had to pull the dagger a little further away to keep from scathing me with my frantic, heavy breathing, with my wild pulse. Alarm clouded reason as I screamed, "You're trying to kill me!"

The dagger rose above her as she pushed me against the wall with all her strength, the dagger lowering like she had dealt me a hurtful pierce. The knife was held loosely against her side. "Don't speak, don't let any of them hear you, do you hear me? This is the only way you're going to live."

"By getting to me first?"

"No," she said softly, resuming holding the dagger against my throat. I turned my head, a sharp pinprick of pain ricocheting through me. Blood dropped down. "Venice, you're hanging yourself, don't move." Her voice was desperate, concerned. I almost laughed.

"I'm not going to let you hang me," I retorted, trying to push her away, wriggling an arm free enough to deal a blow against her. She stumbled but threw herself at me with all her force, pinning me against the wall as I struggled against her in a tangled limb duet. All words were lost as we pressed with all our strength against each other. A stalemate.

Artfully he carved around my neck as he grabbed her wrist, the dagger a breath away from piercing me again as she was thrown to the wall beside me and mimicked my position, pinned there by somebody larger who had wrestled the dagger from her and held it dramatically above her, prepared to lunge with every emotion, every ounce of hatred.

Recognition swarmed him and he stepped back, the dagger lowering against her terrified expression. "Esmeralda."

He looked between us and took the step back, pushing her against the wall, keeping her trapped there. He shouted even above the din of the fights around us, "You could have killed her."

"That wouldn't have been my intention." Her voice was so casual, like discussing the headlines, so detached from emotion. It was that more than anything else that forced his hand against her. Her head reeled but his hold on her wouldn't let her move with it and he pushed her against the wall again, both hands keeping her there as she looked up at him with tears burning her eyes, smudging the dirt on her face. Apology was written over her as she stared up at him and for any chance at salvation, blood lining the corner of her mouth.

He shouted in a roar I'd never known, a desperate call of an animal, "What are you saying your intentions? You didn't want to murder us, just hurt us a lil bit?"

"You don't understand," she wailed and he yanked her to her feet as she slowly unraveled.

"So tell me."

"I haven't forgotten you're my brother, this is my family. I'd never forget that, you know that," she screamed, a fist wrenching free and hitting him in the chest. He grabbed her wrist and forced it behind her, careful not to crush it in his adrenaline improved strength.

"You tried to kill her! You're trying to grab the dagger from me right now." Her eyes flicked up at him from where they had been watching the dagger now at his feet. Caught and fearful shame clouded her but she shook her head wildly.

"No, never," she murmured, sobbing. Disgust lined him as he loosened his grip and let her fall to the ground. She raised a hopeless hand in self-defense and reason bade me remain there but protection forced me a step forwards, more prepared to intervene if things went too far than I thought I ever could against someone who had tried to kill me. He didn't hit her again though but dragged her up with one arm, shaking her roughly.

"What have you done?" he shouted, his voice again the loudest thing in all the street, maybe all the city. Sobbing she shook her head wildly, the wind and her flailing pouring her hair all around and in every direction. Her breath came out in pain as her eyes widened, sliding against her brother and reactively he caught her, his arms instinctively tightening around her waist. Despite death threats and the wrathful disgust that lined his features, the blood link and the history that bound them to each other couldn't be broken and he cradled her against him. His eyes tightened from all the pain they had caused. Yet there was more than my scream that told him this was more than her searching for forgiveness, for understanding. It was their own intertwined fates. He held her gingerly as he looked at his hand newly wet with her blood. He pushed her towards me and a wild scream of rage plundered down on a fleeing foe. He leapt against him, the dagger weighing him down and the man that had stabbed her never had a chance. Hard and in his chest blood poured out. He fell to the ground beneath Spot, and again he pierced him, catching his skull, blows reigning down from his other fist crushing the man.

"Don't, Dimitri, don't!" Camelot screamed, reaching out for him. They were feet away and she tugged at his arm. He sent a fleeting glance towards her. "You're not a murderer."

His arm stilled above the man but his other fist still was absently choking him. I stepped around them, latching to his other arm, whispering, "You're not a murderer."

He tightened in pain, in anger, but with one eye looked towards me and I knew then he wouldn't kill, wouldn't damage anymore than he already had. His arm lowered and he allowed me to gently pull him off and away. It didn't stop my foot from kicking into this man's side. He rolled over in pain at my punishment. "Get out of here, if you don't want me to let go," I threatened and he crawled away, wincing in pain, blood spewing from him and survival the only thing that allowed him to move.

I joined Spot where he leaned down, crouched beside Camelot, gingerly touching her side. Her eyes widened, rolling, squeals of pain moving her hands to squeeze his, stilling them. Their fingers entwined as he looked down at her. "Please…"

"Esmeralda, I need to see it," he said softly, releasing one of his hands and affectionately brushing her hair. She grabbed his hand again.

"I wasn't going to kill her. Anybody."

"I know." How much did he really know? I pulled the over shirt off me, delicately fingering her stained and rapidly darkening side, a bright and dramatic contrast to the brilliant white she wore. Taking my breath and all attachments and locking them away I pulled the fabric away from the wound, wincing and looking away quickly, tracing fingers away from it, analyzing, judging, and concluding. He leaned over me, making the same swift judgments.

"It's not too deep," I began, glancing at Spot and he held my gaze for too long- moments around Ranger did not make me an expert on anything.

"Nah it's not, and we're not improving the headlines. Good news doesn't sell," he grinned, or attempted one, before he gritted his teeth and concentrated on the task at hand, fingering the wound, looking around for a quick escape. "Venice, find Jack. You bring him over to me."

My feet were lifted before he got a hold of me, calling, "Get Blink to fetch Elvira. Round up da others".

"No doctors?" He looked at me sharply, eyeing his sister pointedly.

"Dimitri doesn't trust doctors," she explained fondly, gritting her teeth through everything.

"Nah, no stranger's gonna work on my sister."

It was a swift, frantic motion and orders fell like shattered glass as I took two steps closer, hoping that it wasn't too close as alarmed and afraid we stared down at her fighting with herself. Her eyes were rolling everywhere, looking at each angle in a split second as her face paled and she tightened and tensed until she was unmovable. Tears spilled over her cheeks in a silent torrent before she boosted herself on her elbows, calling for Spot when he was right in front of her.

A tight voice full of panic said, "I'm right here."

She inhaled deeply and threw her head back, grunting a low scream like she was ready to burst right out of her skin. She settled back, grabbing onto his hand and he tried to push her to the ground, gently but firmly. "Lie back down Camelot. Yer gonna make it worse."

"No," she snapped, pushing against his forcefulness and his eyes flashed with her disobedience but he didn't dare push her any further, only stare her down until she hopefully saw reason on her own. She latched onto his wrist like that was her entire support, bringing her face a breath away from his, their intensity electrifying the air around them- it couldn't be broken, radiating from them, a hypnosis they had trouble pulling away from. Through clenched teeth she whispered, "You have to get out of here."

"I know baby, I know," he soothed, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She threw her head violently and I wanted to grab her head and hold it still.

"No! You have to. You and Venice and the rest of em. Now. Go."

"Esmeralda…" he warned, his voice unwavering and annoyed but she pushed his shoulder with as much strength as she could muster.

"You know I'll be fine," she whispered, tears slowly trickling down.

He seemed about ready to break down and cry with her but he slammed his hand down to the ground and shouted, "Shut up," hardened and pulled her towards him until they were again a breath apart. "You're talking nonsense so just shut up and we'll all get out of here."

She shook her head wildly in a frenzy and softly I reasoned, "Esmeralda, just talk to us. You need to get out here just as quick."

Her glare was infinite and Spot looked between us, finally focusing on me- I saw her fingering the dirt but couldn't put the pieces together, couldn't connect them even when she had a handful, even when her hand raised. Just like she had done to me, she threw it against her brother, it stinging his eyes with a cry of outrage and blind swipes and grabs for her. She dodged him, crawling now and I dodged his frantic motions and made a grab for her but she maneuvered away from me, her agility a replacement for her pained walking, for her stumbling.

He was blind to the world but he identified her footsteps, heard her motions, and knew her better and knew her trademarks, knew how she would run and where she would go. It was his intuition, his blood link, and his attentiveness that let him catch her before she could run too far. He grabbed her forearm, pulling her into him no matter how she twisted and struggled, grabbing her waist and pulling her in finally, feeling his way about and not daring to loosen his hold. He rapidly blinked the dirt from his eyes, brushing it with his sleeve. She hadn't aimed and thankfully only just enough to fulfill the purpose had lodged itself in his eyes, easy enough to remove as it was loosened with reactive tears.

He enveloped himself around her as she struggled in vain, every muscle moving to push him away and escape until breathing hard she gave up, his foot lodged around hers and her arms pulled to her sides. Sobbing she turned her head to look up at him and all his murderous rage, somehow not withering beneath his glare, when once he glared half as badly the victim was usually on the ground bleeding before his scowl could deepen. Neither of them could speak, too consumed. They just stared at each other.

"Spot!" Mush roared, stumbling towards us, his shirt ripped and blood on the side of his lip, sweat drenched, but otherwise he was no worse for wear. He glanced between us, bewilderment lining his features and I could almost laugh with his confusion as he eyed Camelot.

"Spit it out," Spot snapped.

"One of Genghis' cronies is heah."

"I told you," she screeched, pulling away from her brother. "I told you!"

"Are you insane? How does 'go away, leave me' turn into that?"

"He'll kill you," she sobbed, finally falling off the edge she had been teetering on, finally expressing fears she had fought with since she had been found broken and bleeding. Inconsolable she screamed, "He'll kill all of you."

"Esmeralda, please." I had never seen him so near to pleading, so close to breaking down when only his pride kept him from falling. When he took her hands she just cried harder.

"He'd kill you too, and if you want to stop that we have to go." I glanced back at Mush, trying to get a silent estimation of how much time we had before the crowd thinned and we would be caught. His urgency was understood and I emphasized, "Now."

She quieted, tears still falling but silently now and only looking like glass she hid behind. Avoiding our eyes she found intrigue in the ground, whispering, "He won't kill me."

Spot's hands tightened on hers, yanking her closer to him. "What do you mean?"

She looked up at him with a glimpse of the defiance she used to harbor and play so well, but her cool reservation had faded when the lights had been turned up too bright. Stubbornness and pulses of lividness faded for chipped delicacy, a china doll that had been cracked in all the wrong places. She watched our shadows as she revealed, "It's more than just a promise but a steadiness of character and a determination for plans nobody in their right state of mind would think of. None of them are ready to kill me, cause they haven't made me ready to die."

"What?" he breathed out, his voice wavering noticeably and gently but firmly fingered her chin, tilting it up so she looked at him. Catching a glimpse at his disoriented face she looked quickly away but his fingers tightened around her chin, "Look at me." A dull lullaby.

"They've made it a game. They're trying to push us to our limits. Their own torture when physical wasn't enough," she moaned, fingering her side and applying as much pressure as she dared. "They need me. I don't know why but they've kept me around this long. They can do without the rest of you."

Pieces that always interconnected with an edge protruding or empty spaces finally came together in a smooth jigsaw, fitting together perfectly. Her voice echoed back to me, her promises that she was saving my life with threats of ending it. Their sick minded beliefs that to save her own life and health she would end others, those she cared for didn't carry through- there were bigger fish to catch, too many, and nobody would focus on the same person. If a dagger already lingered above my throat to them I was already dead.

Translations

A face pe plac la, domn. –please, sir

a permite energie- let go

a permite energie sau ajutor- Let go or help.

Acesta este eu- It is me.

Ce is afarab acola- what is out yonder?

Acolo is nu nume pentru it. I a putea nu a fi cu tu. It's interzis - there is no name for it. I can not be with you. It's forbidden

Poţi tu manifestare eu?- can you show me?

A/N- between the chaos of summer and the beginning of the stress of junior year my updates are sporadic at best. Thank you very much for reading and reviewing!

Shoutouts-

st.elmo-lover- hmmm, I'm betting a lot. I think it was 22 pages, I got a little bit carried away. Haha. This is one of my favorite chapters and I'm so ecstatic you like it! I understand the alive thing, since I've spent so much time writing this story it feels like I should be able to call them up. Lol. Thanks so much for reviewing!

Morbidlyartistic- I don't think I've ever seen the whole thing of Titanic, at least in one sitting…I should probably put that on my to-do list. I'm happy when I get a long review, don't apologize. Thanks so much for it and for reading this, and I know it took me two and a half months to update but please excuse my flakiness  I hope this chapter was alright.

Emba- Chapter twenty-seven was my favorite as well, I'm so happy you enjoyed it! Sometimes I get worried I can be a tad bit melodramatic. Honestly I'm not even sure how it will all come together haha. I've had this chapter written for three months and for some reason just couldn't put it up? But thank you for reading if you are still checking for my story after the long absence.

Scratch O'Brien- Good luck on the audition, but you have probably already done that. Arg, I hate looking not my age, when I went to a fishing museum with family and family friends I had to pretend to be twelve to get a discount. And it worked! Then some people think I can pass for sixteen- nineteen when I want, it's very weird. Your writing does not suck! It always gets better with practice. Anyhoo, thanks for reading and reviewing, it means a lot!

Beachgal- thanks very much for reading and reviewing, sorry it took me eternity and a day to update.

Sports-lover- grazi, sorry you had to wait so long but thanks if you keep reading this!


	29. Chapter 29: Ascend to Revisions

A/N- second update in the last fifteen minutes! This is to make up for all those months of not updating and how bad I am at that. I'm just really busy with school- have to deal with AP classes and the SATS, never mind finding a part time job and anything else that comes up. Roar. I'm trying to work on it but in the time that I have I'm sleeping. Thanks for putting up with me!

**Abstract Images, Chapter Twenty Nine**

It was a delicate tap dance around infringements and explosions that were promised to go off eventually, through broken pieces and disfigurements, around riddles and animosity, through burnt bridges and troubled waters. Every room held its own purpose and promises, its own duties and anybody taking up space would be assumed their business was the same. Trapped and jaded I stretched my leg out, changing positions for the third time since two hours before, not enjoying my own company very much. Words couldn't force themselves, small talk was disgusting when our minds all led back to the same thing. Right now I couldn't handle the same thing, what all our heads centered around. Skirting duties I hid out here. I wasn't sure whether it was the cold air, my own disgust at hiding, or that nobody had even tried to look for me that hurt the worst.

It was a selfish thought that I banished by blowing the smoke away, the product of my fifth cigarette- luck and chance producing several on a bunk that I passed on my way out here. I wasn't sure whose bunk it was, and really didn't care. If I didn't know their bunk, there was a good chance they didn't know me and I'd never face the repercussions of swiping their cigarettes. More than not nobody's sorry for their actions, but for having to repent for them.

It didn't take a sharp sense of hearing to know somebody was steadily climbing the fire escape, clearly not accustomed to going up them from the bangs and clanks and stream of cursing that followed their every footstep. I tensed but recognized the voice, never mind that if they were trying to catch me off my guard they'd be a hundred times stealthier.

"Bend your elbow a bit," I guided as his struggle to boost onto the roof continued. Taking my advice Micah was soon upon the roof, catching his balance and moving closer to me.

"Mind if I join you?"

"If I did I would've pushed you off the roof by now," I retorted, moving slightly away from the edge. It wasn't as if I trusted Micah any less than anybody else, but one wrong move of the muscle, one hand gesture gone wrong, and he would assist in a collapse off the roof, and his crescendo on the fire escape supported my notion that he wasn't amongst the quietest and most graceful of souls.

"Well then I'm glad I caught you in a good mood," he chortled, settling beside me and looking around, impressed very little by the dark night and the view the roof supported, of clotheslines and other rooftops. "Very nice. A definite attraction of the lodging house."

"We should charge for the view," I snorted. "Do the boys know you're up here?"

"Why, you think they wouldn't let a fully grown, strong, and capable man alone far away from the sight and hearing with one of their two young and beautiful newsgirls?"

"That was a mouthful." His sarcastic insinuations didn't amuse me as much as he had hoped. The notion unsettled me more than it used to, even in light and jesting manners. Chewing on the innards of my lip and thankful Spot wasn't here to reprimand me for it my subconscious pleaded with bodily reactions to loosen, to remove this guarded tenseness- I had known this man for years, knew his humor, and knew he'd never go to those lengths with anybody. Reason betrayed instinct so often and I tried to ignore that was what so often got people murdered and into situations they promised themselves they would never find themselves in. "So did you just oh so quietly climb up here or did you use the front door first?"

"I used the front door, I promise. I ran into Jack who told me you were up here."

"I never told Jack I was coming up here."

"He's always going to know where you are, Lani, you should know that by now. He properly threatened and glared me down too. I don't doubt he's gonna be poking his head up here to see if you're alright."

"I don't doubt it," I said, trying to affront an annoyed tone but it fell through with my thankfulness for his attention to details. "Anything interesting happening down there?"

"Elvira's come with one of her midwife friends. The woman's trained in wounds too, so she's useful. She was a little too close to being a doctor though, so Spot threw a fit, which set Camelot off and they started yelling at each other, then Jack threw something at the wall to shut them up since it isn't good that she's screaming when she's weak. That she was a woman was the only thing that saved the midwife from Spot throwing her out."

"Damn," I said softly, but that didn't help the amused smirk plastered across my face. Micah's eyebrow rose as he studied my amusement.

"I'm guessing you like these newsies now."

"You could say that," I shrugged, careful not to express too much. A knowing grin split his face in two before he attempted to hide it at my annoyed scowl. I jabbed him in the side with my elbow and he pushed my shoulder. "They're good people. Better than most."

"Ah," Micah nodded, his tone telling me that he knew I wasn't near revealing anything I was thinking or feeling, and not even a page of the story had been told. "Is Spot one of those good people?"

Defensively I assured him, "Yes," but was unwilling to assure him anymore, guarded and unsure.

"Your face lit up when I spoke of him."

I looked out amongst the treetops and the rooftops, amongst all the lives that probably crossed mine more than once but I never knew it. Suddenly admitting everything, the truth, and having one person know more than they should, divulged privacy, seemed insignificant. "He's the first person that I've met that's ever challenged me, that's disturbed and changed me. He's shaken my foundation to the very core. It used to frighten me. It doesn't right now but I promise you most of the time I'm more afraid of him than I could ever be of anyone. Not because I think he's going to harm me, but that he's not going to harm me. That's the problem. I've spent all my life living with those who unintentionally harm everyone around them, hell, I'm one of those people. I'm terrified because I know he can make me do things I would never do and that he has that power, a power that nobody has ever had over me. That he can understand me and I him without saying anything, that we can calm each other with just a touch, that his brushing against me causes my heart to skip a beat. That he takes me places and says things to me that I never knew was possible and makes me see things that I've passed a hundred times before, but really see them. I hate, I hate it so much that I can be my happiest just playing fucking cards with him."

He was quiet for seconds as he stared off into the distance, seeing things that I couldn't as I tried to return my breathing to normal, as I tried to remember everything I had just said and weight how cliché it sounded, even to me, and thanking every star that was in the sky behind the clouds that nobody else was here to hear me. "Sounds like you love him."

"An awful resolution I made some days ago," I returned bitterly, taking a long and deep drag of the cigarette I had been playing with all this time.

Smirking he agreed, "You're wiser than most girls to know that falling in love can be the worst thing in the world. Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful thing. But it's powerful. And you have to be ready to succumb to that power, to be changed and to change. You have to be ready to feel more pain than you ever have in your life, and to feel more joy and sometimes the latter can be the most dangerous. You have to be ready to make sacrifices you never dreamed of making."

"How do you know if you're ready?" I whispered, watching the ash fall to the rooftop, creating a pattern that meant nothing because as it grew its precedent shrank. Suspense littered the ground and I closed my eyes tightly.

I tightened instinctively at the arm suddenly around me but allowed myself to let go, to let myself be pulled in to him. "You'll know, Lani. Maybe not until you're facing that power and those sacrifices but you will know."

"I don't have to know now."

"No."

"Do you think I'm ready?" I innocently asked, almost disgusted with my vulnerability and how ready I was to accept any answer and take it to heart, to let his response guide my behavior.

After seconds of thoughtful hesitation he replied, "You know kid, I do. You might be young but you've got an old soul. The way you talk about him, the way you look when you do so, says it. I think you handle whatever life puts at you."

Quietly we stared off into the distance, mulling over his words, consumed with our own stories and histories. "Have you found anyone?"

"Like a lover?" he inquired and laughed at my nod. "Not yet. I'm not in a hurry though. I've got too much on my plate to be ready for one yet. As selfish as it sounds I'm not ready to make anybody else more important than myself."

"What are you talking about?" Laughter seeped through my words as I pulled away from him. "You put people in front of you everyday. Your little gang. You'd die for those boys, Micah."

His smile seemed pained now. "They're part of me, Lani. If I became involved with somebody that was more than just a fling, but I really fell in love with her, I would have to put her in front of anything. Those boys are part of me, part of what I do. If it was between them and her I'd have to choose her. I'm not ready to do that yet. I wanna play leader, hero, for a little bit more."

"You'd be her hero though," I pointed out and he shrugged, but knew I understood in ways I never should. Hesitantly I mumbled, "What happens when one person is ready for love but the other isn't?"

"I can't tell you that," Micah replied carefully, easily understanding my train of thought. It wasn't hard to. Placing the cigarette between my lips his face flashed before my eyes, mimicking Micah's position a tenfold. I had no doubt in my bones that if forced to choose between me and his boys he would choose the former. And I couldn't blame him.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asked, purposefully breaking up my thoughts and disallowing me from thinking too deeply, from analyzing too much. "I've wanted to ask you that since I got up here."

"It's not a new habit. I just never let you see me do it before," I shrugged and continued at his chastising look. "I rarely did it back then and I rarely do it now. But it's been a long night and they were sitting out in the open just asking for a home."

"Yeah well I'm gonna have to have a talk with Jack about that."

"Micah…" I started in, unsure if he was kidding or not. He returned my look. "You're not gonna say anything to Jack, it's not your place."

"Of course it's my place," he argued.

"No it's not. Do you know how angry he's going to get?"

"Relax Lani. I never was going to say anything to him."

Groaning I settled back, stretched way too thin already for his games. Micah's voice again cut into my thoughts, a habit I was beginning to get annoyed with. "Speak of the devil."

"I heard that," Jack replied, boosting himself onto the rooftop and towering above with his cowboy hat tilted over his eyes, casting himself in more shadows than the night produced. He trotted over to us.

"See Micah, that's how you climb a fire escape. Silently," I pointed out and he seemed offended with his mistakes.

"Yeah right, if I was quiet you woulda probably gotten so scared when I said something you woulda gone right over the edge."

"Well then don't sneak up on me, you grafter," I growled and he saluted before we both turned our attention to Jack.

"Well I can see everything's fine up here," he assumed, studying my expression carefully for any traces of fear or helplessness and I nodded reassuringly. "Venice, get that thing out of your mouth."

"Told you so," Micah mocked as resentfully I pulled the cigarette and kept it between my fingers, resting my hand next to me.

"Put it out," Jack dictated in a voice like I was mentally slow.

"You smoke. You wouldn't care if it was one of the boy's smoking. Hell, you don't care that Snipe smokes."

"You got that right, now put it out before I make you," he snapped and glaring at him I did as I was told, the fight not worth it when I would never prevail. "Now give me the rest of them."

"I don't have anymore."

"Venice, now. I don't have time for your antics."

Trying to ignore Micah's cackling but purposefully stepping on him as I got up, I shoved the remaining three cigarettes into his hand, giving him the evil eye. I turned to resume my seat but he grabbed my collar, not releasing me and pulling me back in. "And the one in your pocket."

"Oh you're good," I said as I removed the cigarette, disappointed with being caught as I handed it back to Jack.

"I'm the best."

"Well as long as you're modest about it," I shrugged, finally resuming my seat and brushing the ash from before off the edge of the roof. "Any news from below?"

He took a deep a breath like he was preparing himself for a long winded citation. "After trying to force Camelot to drink some foul smelling concoction that would put her to sleep, and her ending up pouring the entire thing on Spot, which was hilarious to anybody but Spot who promptly turned red, Elvira gave in and gave her some laudanum. Once she was knocked out Isadora stitched her up, which took about an hour since it was fairly deep. Elvira's been keeping an eye on her but Isadora is moving to any other sick or hurt newsboy and trying to patch them up in ways that I can't. Otherwise it's been pretty quiet."

"Same ole routines," Micah agreed.

"Are you staying the night? It's late my friend."

"It's early," I argued, glancing at the pocket watch I had taken from Racetrack earlier today and had forgotten to return. Yesterday had left and the notion of tomorrow was replaced with today, being a little past midnight and nearing the one o'clock hour.

"Thank you for the invitation Kelly but I really have to get going," Micah declined and waved a hand at our immediate protests. "My boys will be needing me back home and I'm not going to be able to sleep away from them when the city's like this."

"I can't blame you, I wouldn't stay away from here either," Jack agreed, sharing the burden every leader faced and Spot was presently struggling with, torn between his boys and his sister. His capable right hand men and his periodic visits were the only thing that allowed him to stay away. "I'll get a few of my own together to walk you back."

"Nah, I'll be fine. It's not too far."

"It's too late, Micah, I'll be hearing none of it. I'll go round some up now," Jack settled the matter all on his own and removed himself from the roof, as he scaled the fire escape calling, "Venice, I expect you inside in the next ten minutes."

My protests and groans were loud and adamant but only half-hearted, exhaustion weighing down on me already and time now seemed a pointless thing. Micah glanced at me, saying "I don't think he cares".

"Go home," I mumbled and he grinned, embracing me quickly before crawling towards the edge of the fire escape and pushing himself down to it.

"Be envious of my quiet fire escaping," he called back as he slipped away from my sight but not out of my mind, clambering down but quieter than before and sighing, too tired to mock him anymore I settled back onto the roof. I didn't dare lie down, because it was no understatement that I would fall asleep and Jack would have hell waking me up, and give me hell for putting him through it.

"Morning sunshine," I greeted Racetrack's deeply scowling face as he noticed the sandman's sandbags lifting from my eyes and the sleep fading from me for a morning alertness that surprised even me on such little sleep. He was rearranging his suspenders as he sat on the side of the bunk.

"Did that extra twenty minutes do ya a lot of good? Did it?" he snapped, his voice as angry as his face portrayed and I rolled over, pulling the pillow over my head. His voice penetrated it as he hit my thigh. "What are you doing?"

"Going back to sleep. If I just woke up and you're already yelling at me today is not going to be a good day. So I'm not going to wake up."

"You'll wake up if I have to throw you off the bunk and pour buckets of ice on you."

"That would hurt."

"Damn right," he snapped, snatching the pillow away from me and I flailed dramatically like a fish out of water, tossing and turning and covering my eyes and screaming, "No, not the sun. Make it go away."

"Venice…"

"I'm dying!" The pillow came hard atop my head and I stopped flailing long enough to grunt and glare up at him while rubbing my sore head. He raised the pillow again and I kicked my leg up, sending the pillow spiraling through the air and attacking Snipeshooter.

"Hey!" he shouted indignantly, throwing the pillow back and ending my suspicious cackling I pointed at Racetrack.

Grabbing my arm and forcing it at my side he snapped, "It was not me!"

"Wassamattah Racey? Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?"

"Thanks to you," he accused, gesturing to where I comfortably laid on his bunk. To emphasize my comfort, and to be obnoxious, I squirmed around with a sigh of relaxed bliss. "I have never hit a goil but today would be a very good day to start."

"Well can you tell me if you're mad at me cause I'm on your bunk or cause people know I'm on your bunk?" I asked casually but the frustration was brewing, especially when it was no fault of mine that Camelot had been whining in her sleep all night, forcing me in here against every one of my wishes.

"You think I give a damn about that? Most of dem don't care if yer in da boys room, we're newsies for god sakes, and those who do can go to hell."

"So you're angry with me cause I'm on your bed. I don't kick."

"Venice," he sighed, exhaustion finally tracing him as he pulled me into a sitting position. "I'm tired, alright. You wouldn't wake up, and I got worried you were sick just like every other kid in here, and den I'm just annoyed you won't get your ass out of bed. Never mind any dirty looks I'm getting cause you are here."

"Alright, alright, I'm up," I negotiated, with effort pulling myself off the bed and stumbling, the bunk next to us catching me before I could stumble against anything else and do anybody but myself injury. A screech erupted from me as Blink hopped beside me, vibrating the floorboards and without a glance my way or an apology he made his way to the bunkroom. "Bastard."

"Venice," Racetrack reprimanded, giving me a harsh glare and I gestured wildly towards the Cyclops.

"He didn't even say one word to me. Not an apology, not a good morning, not even a smirk. Nothing!"

"Blink's not one to forgive so easy."

"For what? I didn't do anything."

"Calm down Ven."

"No I will not calm down. I'm getting so tired of this. It's a constant fight with all of you, isn't it?" Before he could induce another reprimanding or soothing word, I pulled away from his area of the bunkroom and determinedly headed towards the washroom with a pace no angry mother could rival. Raised eyebrows, amused smiles, and unconcerned mutterings followed me towards the washroom. Feeling grimy and blemished I needed a good scrub but before I could attain any water the back of my shirt was pulled, halting me where I was. In vain I pressed forward, every step I took taking me to the same place and finally I grew tired of stretching out my shirt and whirled on Jack, forcing his release of me.

My hand on my cocked hip and my free palm dramatically gesturing I snapped, "What do _you _want?" It was a deathly combination that I didn't immediately regret; crossing Jack in the morning, the world stressing him more than before, my words themselves, and my tone. Together they were a product for disaster and his blazing eyes, flushed cheeks and deep set glare were just a few hints that I had crossed a line no newsie should cross.

"Venice, I think you might want to explain to me just what you meant by that. Otherwise I might have to think the wrong thing. I might just start thinking you're disrespecting me. You don't remember that I'm your leader and I might just think I have to set you straight." His threats lingered and circulated in the air, his careful but firm tone seeping around us so the few newsboys that littered between the bunkroom and the washroom had come to a standstill, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Unfortunately I didn't join them nor adorn an ashamed expression and his arms crossed once no apologies emitted from me.

"What do you think I meant, Kelly? You ain't stupid." My voice was full of scorn and probably the emphasis on every syllable was what annoyed him even more than me taking a step closer. "I asked what you wanted grabbing me like that. I'm just trying to get some damn water."

"Oh yer just trying to get some damn water, are you?" he snarled, nodding towards somebody directly behind me and hesitantly Crutchy began handing me the water, but before the transaction could be made Jack had ripped it from my hands. My hands couldn't raise above me in self defense, nor could I side-step the torrent of freezing water as it rained down on me, the breath hissing out of my lungs, all of my innards trembling as my hair fell out of the tie it had been secured with, tumbling around me in frozen strands. Trembling and shivering I crossed my arms and held myself, spluttering and spitting water and blinking it from my eyes, feeling all eyes suddenly on me and self-consciously aware that my clothes were crossing the borders between decent and transparent. No retorts were to be made as I stared with a combination of fury and awe up at Jack who revealed none of his triumph, but stared hard down at me. Finally he broke our mutual stares, our momentary mutual dislike as he grabbed my arm and dragged me towards him, leaning down so his blazing eyes could meet mine. Uncomfortable with the intimacy his eyes offered, the sensation that he could read every word and emotion I tried to hide, every stained part of me, I wanted to look away but didn't dare do so. "Next time I promise you won't just be a lil' wet."

He raised his eyebrows like this was an agreement between us and not willing to say anything (a stubborn refusal and also a fear to say the wrong thing) I clenched my jaw tighter to refrain from chattering teeth. Like this was understood between us he grabbed the sleeve of my shirt and pulled me past him and in the direction of my own room, shoving me roughly towards it to go along the walk of shame. My energy for defiance was gone now, replaced by a wetness that chilled me to the bones, and I lowered my eyes as I passed the boys that were staring at me unwaveringly, completely in control and completely aware of the torture it was to be publicly put in my place. There were two types of boys that encompassed the bunkroom- those with sympathy and condolence and those with glittering disapproval and mockery, triumph, cruelty that longed to be Jack right now. The latter made up the vast majority.

I was half way through, towards the center of the bunkroom and there Blink had caught my eye, his face replicating all those with triumph and mockery in their awful expressions, that I could handle but it was his sharp snicker, "Look what the cat dragged in" that pushed me over the edge and I couldn't hold the tears in anymore. With one choking sob they spilled and I didn't have to hope that they blended in well with my drenched face, because I didn't care anymore. My pace quickened and rivaled that of earlier but I couldn't bring myself to run, that little bit of pride still effecting me never mind I was nearly too cold to move at all but once I neared that door, once it was only a few yards in front of me my walk became brisker and at the final yard I dashed for it, ripping the handle open and tumbling in, literally stumbling and a grab for the nightstand the only thing that kept me standing. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door closed with all my strength, falling into it, finally letting go. It was more than just the embarrassment and it was more than Jack's newfound disapproval just when I began to amend things, more than Blink's needless hostility. It was my frustrations with the isolation, with always sticking out like a sore thumb, with their mutterings and how determinedly they avoided me. It was Micah's sudden appearance and visits, that unexpectedly connected the life I was beginning to build and the life I had left behind, it was the forced realizations that there was a good chance I was in love and the man that had the fate of my infatuated emotions might never be ready to return that love. It was Camelot's constant illness and all her dangers, not realizing how deeply I had come to care for the newsgirl and watching her fall apart. It was every havoc on the streets, every little thing that I had come to ignore and that was resurfacing.

Furious for this needless breakdown I slammed my palms against the wall, pressing my lips together and screaming, erupting in a high pitched squeal several notes too piercing. Liberated by the act, the screech that was more than a scream, I repeated it, over and over slamming my hands against the wall and letting the few tears fall free but I had wept enough these past few days and it was not a cumbersome task to hold the tears away. It was cold hard fury that was emanating from me instead. I grabbed an empty bottle that had been full of what I didn't care and threw it at the floor, watching it shatter. It was ethereal and at that moment I was infinite. Exhilarated by destroying it, by my own two hands breaking something, I looked around for something else to break and unceremoniously grabbed a batch of papers scattered around the door and tore them, with each tear of the paper grunting and every few papers repeating my war cry. Panting with this new found violence I looked around, half sobbing and half grinning, needing to destroy something. I was shaking with more than just the chill now but with anger and adrenaline and I knew that if I couldn't find something to satisfy my rage I would begin to pull my own hair out.

Smaller hands placed something cool and smooth in my hands and blurrily I looked before me. Fearlessly Camelot stared at me, empathy lining her gaze and selfishly I glanced to what she had put in my hands. "It cuts through the wood here. If you keep going on like this Jack is gonna hear you and trust me, you don't want him coming in. He won't see the notches here."

She had been in my place too many times to dare touch me but instead moved herself towards our dresser and motioned at the side furthest from the door. Crouching down I ran my fingers over the dents the knife had inserted, that she had done. It was nearly all full and apprehensively I looked back at her. "Do as much as you like. It's better than breaking anything you find cause that you'll regret later. Also, this is harder so the struggle's more of a relief."

Like she was showing me how to do something completely normal and placid she watched me, taking a step back and giving me the room I needed to push the knife against the wood, carving into it and the struggle surprised me as I threw my strength into the handle, digging through the wood, wriggling and wrangling with it. Finally satisfied with the hole my strength was invested in pulling the knife out of the wood, twice as hard and finally it eased itself out and I threw it again. It was not more than another stab that I stopped screeching, and five more incisions later my grunts had grown to dull breaths and finally I dropped the knife to the ground, exhausted. I didn't care if I put my hand on it or if it made me bleed, my thumb already bloody from a deep slip. She joined me sitting upon the floor, eliminating the positions of dominance and submissiveness and quietly waited till my breathing regulated.

"That's about how much I can do at a time," she quietly said, guiding her fingers over the deep stabs above my own. There had to be about a hundred, little space, only enough for an ant, before the next tiny hold had been made.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Half a year," she shrugged in an irritating approximation. She was guaranteed a flailing breakdown every couple weeks and somehow to the rest of the world appeared composed and in control, at least before Swigs had found her. She caught my gaze and eerily said, "Does that make me insane?"

"No, that makes you human," I replied, putting it into perspective with everything she had dealt with and been through. She smiled lightly but I wasn't sure why. The hand that rested on her side reminded me of her ailments and was a sharp dose of reality of how selfish I had been. "How's your side?"

"They stitched me up. There isn't anything wrong with it anymore," she dismissed it but I knew enough about stitches that the area around it was bruised, and that every sharp movement probably caused her more pain than she was willing to reveal. She smiled lightly, a silent expression of mutual understanding. Perhaps they did more than just place a few inches of thread into her side because her coloring was brighter and resembling how it used to be and she had been injected with the glow that used to emanate around her, her eyes brighter and her lips colorful. The bruises and scratches that had been so prominent were fading, the couple of nicks fading brilliantly into her. While her left eye still was swollen it wasn't as obvious as it had been, the first signs that it was beginning to heal, the blackness lightening to a reddish tint, the scrape beside it scabbing over. The bruise on her jaw hardly was noticeable unless it was looked for and her busted lip was scabbing over. The only thing that heads would turn for is the strips of cotton placed over the gash on her forehead, probably still open and bloody.

"They work wonders don't they," she said proudly, her fingers running over her face in a reminiscent fondness. "They say I should be nearly back to normal in about a week. I haven't heard of such a thing."

"They're brilliant." It wasn't enough, she was satisfied with a response I could never be happy with, and I couldn't form it in my lips nor in my mind, realizing that nothing was enough, nothing could express gratitude for a reformation.

"Elvira said it was mostly the poison that kept it bleeding. Once she removed it they became nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. It took the grandeur out of it," she continued, holding my gaze and for once I was able to keep a steady stare and not feel a challenge. "Do think it's vain of me to care so much?"

"No. No, Camelot it's not," I consoled, her distraught expression enough to indicate how much this notion upset her. Her eyes widened and I knew I had to be forceful and convincing to draw her out of these ideas, and carefully I began, "Our appearance is what leads to impressions and you have never flaunted yours, even though every woman would murder and pay gold to look like you and men would do the same to have you. Nobody wants to walk around, even in their own home, with bruises across their face, disturbing what they knew so well. You know your face and you just want it back to normal. You don't want their memory on you, and every time you look at your reflection you shouldn't have to give them the satisfaction of degrading your appearance. It'd be vain if you were hiding, wallowing, shielding your face and not caring about anything but your tarnished beauty. But I can give you a hundred things you care about more right now."

Her face lightened, that burden removed temporarily from her mind and inwardly I sighed with excess relief, believing she had understood me and taken it to heart, removing unneeded guilt. "Besides, anyone can see that the bruises are just a temporary attribution. Don't think you're hideous with them because you still have the looks you always had."

"Thanks Venice," she chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes and I remembered my chill, felt again the sharp sensation that had been removed with distractions and racing blood for hot tempered tantrums. "Spot did the same thing to me when I informed him he was a dirty, manipulative, overbearing and mildly psychotic person. I've avoided crossing him in the washroom since then."

"Might be best for your health," I smirked, relieved another shared my fate and the humiliation it offered. However, it was hardly similar because of her ongoing status and history here, didn't have to feel the mocking eyes boring into her. "It's good you informed him."

"I think so," she consented before her eyes flashed and she thwacked herself with her palm. "Sorry, I keep forgetting you're drenched. You're probably frozen to the bone."

"I'm lucky I'm just in my underclothes. It'd be hell waiting for my clothes to dry," I tried to make less of the situation, fingering the simple cotton open drawers and thanking my lucky stars for the thick chemise, being adorned all in white. Her own were similar to mine but upgraded slightly in elegancy and complications, her white open drawers featuring peach ribbons gathering the legs and a cotton corset cover that hooked in the front with an eyelet trim around the neck and sleeves. It was a simple thing in grand retrospective but a fine undergarment for a newsgirl.

Her hair flew past her as she whipped her head around, searching for something and finally resurfacing beneath her mattress with bundled clothes in her arms, displaying it on the mattress for me to examine. Remembering her own attire and the clothes she had given me on the first days of my appearance I asked, "Damn girl, how much clothes do you have?"

She seemed to be calculating it in her mind and counted it off on her fingers. "Well there's the clothes I gave you, obviously, and the ones over there in the corner. I got me own extra pair and these here my good friend Hoops grew outta and dumped em on me step. I don't think she'll mind you borrowing them."

Smiling I thanked the God of Hand-me-Downs, resenting how dirty my other pair was becoming as she threw a towel in my face. Peeling it away from my wet skin I ran it over, ringing myself drier than I had been all morning. She delicately moved towards the door in a cautious effort not to slip on the drained water. "I'm gonna pick up a few spares to mop this up and while I'm at it I'll try and sugarcoat things. They're gonna be stewing on it all morning otherwise."

"Don't bother, it won't do any good. They're gonna be harassing me no matter what, especially if your smoothing it over for me."

"I've been there before honey, and while I was mad and locking myself in my room they just got angrier. Even if it's a third party there's still damage control," she shrugged, taking her leave of her own room and I called out my gratitude but she probably didn't hear me, the door shutting and I kept near it just in case I had to throw my weight into the door to keep some busybody boys hoping to catch a glimpse of something as I slipped out of wet garments, dried off and into the new ones that had been fortunately around. The red shirt fit a little tighter than I was comfortable with, accentuating my chest more than my other top, but its sleeves were thicker and would guard against the cold better. The brown trousers were no different than any other and aside from being slightly too large they fit comfortably, and I shuffled around for my hat, now becoming necessary to shield from the cold wind, and shoes that I knew I needed. I was still drying out my hair with one shoe one and hopping around for the other when three sharp and short knocks vibrated from the other side of the door and a moment later Camelot reemerged. My only surprise was that she remembered the knock we had created upon the first week of my arrival.

"I wasn't wrong," she snapped, slumping down onto the mattress with a haughty expression and crossed arms to watch my excavation of our room to find that one shoe that always evaded me. Giving her time to explain I kept my head down, only out of the corner of my eye seeing her flashing eyes and blushing cheeks. "You know what they did? You know what those chauvinistic pigs did? First, they're all giving me these dirty looks for being out and about and as soon, I kid you not, the moment Jack sets eyes on me he pushes, _pushes, _me and starts dragging me towards our room. Well I dig my heel into the ground and pull in the other direction as if all our fucking lives depend on it and I get a helluvva lot of 'I'm not fighting you on this, you're too weak still'. I mean, do I look like a broken doll or something? Last time I checked I had all my limbs, two ears, two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. But no, he starts getting on me, already giving me an earful about me being too reckless, telling me I'm gonna break my stitches and Elvira's gonna be burdened. He actually told me I was burdening her."

"Oh, and he's not with his 'Elvira, save me. Elvira I can't wrap a bandage. Someone's got a splinter. Should I pull it out? Elvira!'" I mocked and if not amused she seemed pleased with my whining voice and deranged facial expressions. She did a few of her own, her face loose and lopsided.

"I know, and he can tell us all that if we were him, but the moment we do the same thing we get a lot of 'do you know who you're talking to' and 'watch it' and water poured on us, as you know. Yeah, so when I got around to setting him straight about how much he overreacts and how you're shaking you're so cold he tells me if I don't like it he'll throw water all over me to. I care about you and all but I didn't want to get wet, so when I tried to make him empathize with you he walked away. He walked away! Can you believe that?"

I almost wanted to laugh at her indignant face and her wide eyes, but settled for smiling and shaking my head. She continued, "I know, I couldn't either. When I tried to go after him Race snatched me up and wouldn't put me down. After I pretended to calm down I stepped on his foot and came back here. It's too stupid out there."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," I chuckled, triumphantly yanking my boot from beneath our dresser and holding it high above my head. I bowed at her wild applause and plopped on the floor to fit it on. "So you selling today?"

"What do you think?"

"No," I surmised.

"Yes," she challenged and at my raised eyebrow she continued, "They might not be aware of it yet but I am, and none of them can stop me."

"I think they'd beg to differ."

"Look at me Venice, do you think they're gonna try anything serious with me? There's not a chance they're gonna hit me when I still got presents from Swigs all over."

The breath was pulled from me in a sharp exhale and with lowered eyes I tied the strings of my boot tight and then tighter, but when her impatient penetrating stares became too much I looked up at her again. "How can you talk about him like that?"

As revealing and open as she had been moments before she became suddenly guarded and stiff, on alert and prepared to act on little provocations, her face hardening just as hard as her words, "Talk about who?"

"You know who," I threw at her.

"Do I?" When she realized how petty our staring was becoming she ended it first. "Not saying his name makes him invulnerable, infinite, inhuman. He's a monster but he's not invincible. I'm not going to make him so. He's not going to hold that fear over me."

My gaze settled and hardened on her, suspicions engraved and running like poison through me, apparently spraying all over her from her affronted face at my disbelief. "I just don't understand you. Last night you were sobbing in fear, when you were brought back you didn't say a word to anybody but to snap. You were loosing it before you were taken too. That's fine with all of us, that's normal. But why now? What happened this morning to make you act like you did before, probably before you even met Swigs?"

Her arms fell to her sides and her hands played with each other, her gaze dropping in silence that I knew wasn't the result of thoughtfulness and she instantaneously became the little girl that was being torn in all directions, vulnerable and small and wrestling with the current of the world, a childlike innocence that we had all lived through only a few years ago. Sometimes I forgot that. That for all the trials and tribulations and their obnoxious quirks we were all still young.

She stood up finally, the childishness gone and there was no trace to be found of it as she stared into my eyes with rage blazing in every bone and a steely determination I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of. "Is there a premeditated broken period? I'm tired of letting him have that control over me. Last night was enough. I allowed him to believe that he still had control over me. Not anymore. Call it an epiphany, believe whatever you like, but I'm finished. Venice, nothing's going to change what he did to me and Helena."

"Helena…"

"The baby he killed. They said it was too early to know but I knew. It was a girl too, my daughter. Nothing can bring her back and nothing's going to change what he's done to the rest of the newsboys and newsgirls, the sweatshop workers and gangs, of New York. There's no going back and I'm not going to live in those moments. I'm going to rebuild it, except stronger this time, so strong he won't be able to penetrate it no matter what he does to me."

"He's not going to do anything to you," I said firmly, my own determination matching hers and that was probably the only thing that redeemed her respect for me as she didn't look away and nodded.

"I know." Her words were only half-hearted and I wasn't naïve enough to encourage their wholesomeness. He was never going to quit until he was good and dead. We were all waiting for that moment. And hopefully one of us would be the cause.

"We should go before the distribution office runs out of papes," I encouraged and she smiled, because between us we had consented that she was selling no matter what happened. On her way in the towels had been thrown to the floor in a fit of anger but where they fell is where they should lie and we stepped on them as I pulled the door open, thankful that the majority of the newsies would be gone already. It almost took an effort to step outside our room and into the humiliation of the unnecessary world.

"Spot!" My exclamation of surprise brought him from leisurely leaning against the wall, arms crossed and head leaning against it, to a direct and upright position, alert but revealing nothing but an odd awareness for this time of morning. His name brought Camelot stumbling out of the room, peering up at him with a returned childlike innocence, her hands clasped behind her back and doe eyed she stared up at him. I giggled slightly with the image and his ruffled expression as he eyed her amusedly. His amusement faded though, as it had to, and every prediction and antecedent I had made about him came tumbling to the dust when his only reaction was to say, "Let's go sell."

Suspiciously narrowing her eyes she regarded him coolly and when he did not purposefully force himself to become readable the tension faded with the spark of mutual understanding. A small smile came about her. He returned it before it faded as they electrically reconnected as he held onto her shoulder. My spark of understanding resulted in a deep exhale. He had been standing outside the door all along, probably following her as he saw her storm back to our room, hearing everything that had exchanged between us. Most important her initiative for selling, and all the reasons why we never told anyone, every stunned reflection on Swigs and a change that she hopefully wouldn't go back on.

"Yer gonna catch something awful wid dis hair of yers," Racetrack warned and his advice was heeded but ridiculously useless when my shoulders were already shivering and the wet strands had curled against my neck.

"And if I do I'll be getting all I can out of it. Guilt tricks usually work," I explained my devious plan as I eyed Jack reading a newspaper towards the end of the distribution center, already having gotten his papers and now just granting us his presence to keep his eye on his newsies until the very last one had his newspapers. The distribution office is a central meeting place for all newsies, and the perfect target for anybody planning on starting trouble especially after notions of the leaders and prominent or older figures streets away already selling. The younger and more helpless newsies are often pushed towards the back in the natural pecking order, leaving them open and vulnerable to attacks they needn't be subjected to. The Coney leader has learned that from first hand experience, now having a seven year old boy with a broken arm he didn't deserve.

"Let him overhear yer complaining later. Right now just put your hair up until its dry," Race advised, removing my cap for me and refusing to give it back until I did as he asked. Groaning and grumbling I bundled up my hair. As enjoyable as it would be to watch Jack squirm I wasn't naïve enough to risk getting ill for it; watching others around me steadily grow more fatigued and nauseous, slipping into dreamlands and convulsing, just boosted my own awareness and put everything into a realistic perspective I didn't appreciate. That was one of the reasons I truly pitied those tied to their homes, housewives and even middle class children, for their grasp on reality has been so deterred with time, fables, and their own imaginations that if they were ever taken away from that loose grip, away from others watching over them, their chance at survival is so much less, their discomfort so much greater when their perspective on everything endangers them at every turn and at every corner.

"Weahs Mush?" I casually asked but perhaps it wasn't so casual with his anxiety, how tense he suddenly was and the expert way he refused to look at me.

Carefully he replied, "He's wid Blink".

There were no breathing exercises to be had, no restraints on a temper that flew out of hand too frequently because I cared very little. "Blink's not speaking to me and needs someone to sell wid him. So wad? I've got you, Higgins," I chuckled, throwing an appreciative arm around his shoulders and he grinned very slightly but didn't emphasize the situation, not reaching the depths of his discomfort and he knew that it was something I shouldn't know.

I knew more than he ever thought possible; I felt the scowls and the presumptuous stares, the awkward silences as people passed me, and I felt the depths of my isolation to the others. I was the burden he had gotten trapped with this morning. "Racetrack, I'm not an idiot. With Kid Blink still ignoring me, and needing Mush as a selling partner, the others ostracizing me and Jack too angry with me to take me on as his selling partner yer here, stuck wid me. You wanted Camelot's companionship, and hers alone."

"Venice," he said sharply, his stern eyes forcing my attention. "Yer no burden to me, yer me friend. Yeah I wanted to be wid Camelot today and I promise you I still will be. It's not as if we'd be alone before wid Spot looking over her shoulder. So don't belittle yourself because it's just gonna make you more depressed den you already are and make me angrier, you hear?"

"Did you know putting tomato soup in your hair makes it shinier?" Camelot inquired as she bounced into view, loosely carrying a bundle of papers with an opened one in her other hand. Spot's exhausted frame appeared behind her, a larger bundle of papers in his arms. I glanced at Racetrack and with a meeting of our eyes that appeared casual to everyone else we reached the understanding that neither of us would bring it up again.

"I wanna know who thought that up," I remarked as I leaned over her shoulder and scanned the article. "Were they just putting anything into their hair, was it an accident, or do they have a fetish with tomato soup?"

"I'm betting on the third," she replied, folding it and merging it with the others.

"What page is that on?" Racetrack groaned, pulling a paper away from Camelot and flipping through the end of it.

"Two," Spot spat and I exchanged a glance with Camelot, coming to the conclusion that he had not been put into a thrilled mood by this recent development. Racetrack winced noticeably and disbelievingly opened to page two for the article on hair products. "Its top news, don't ya know?"

"Why can't dey give us anything decent?" Racetrack complained, raising his voice enough for any scabbers lingering around to hear.

"Cause dey want to keep their world hidden. Da truth. They're hiding the important issues so they can exact control over the city and to reduce panic from the rest of the public," Camelot retorted matter of factly, her conspiracy theories a small sign that she was beginning to return to her usual state of mind.

"For once I have to agree wid you," Spot grumbled, separating the newspapers into equal amounts for Racetrack and I.

"Or society really just thinks tomato juice is more important than murder, progress, or introspection," Racetrack voiced and we reached a consensus, balancing both of their views and merging them into one pile of bullshit.

"But they have to have the prettiest locks," Spot whined, curling a strand of his hair around his finger and Camelot pushed him playfully.

"You underestimate the vitality of hair care. It's you men that are judging us on our hair every minute, our clothing…"

"Our posture, our painting, our music, our manners…" I chirped.

"Our beauty, our innocence, our docility," she counted off on her fingers.

"Little girl, we're just hoping you lot don't stink too bad and don't have any facial hair," Spot retorted and frightened I ran a hand over my face.

"Oh no, Spot, you know the truth. I'm the bearded lady."

As he smirked and covered his eyes, refusing to look at me in my bearded state Camelot sent him a cold stare. "I was talking about the higher class."

"I know," Spot sighed, pushing her forwards and initiating our merry little band to start moving towards a prime selling spot without causing anymore pointless arguments.

"Trying to get off without me?"

"You caught me," I admitted and his raised eyebrows eyed me with a complacent understanding I was teasing him, and he calculated the amount of papers we had in our arms and glanced at his significantly larger pile. We had come to a surprising halt with his interruption, despite the startling revelation that I had not been spooked when he tapped me on the shoulder.

"You're not a newsie," Spot remarked and Micah felt his challenge when most outsiders would have seen only obvious remarks for small talk that wasn't worth having now, and that Spot probably didn't have any idea of starting. His hair fell before his eyes, emphasizing his glare and Micah returned it easily.

"You're Brooklyn."

"Yeah?" Spot inquired and inwardly I groaned, placing a restraining hand on his crossed arms as he shifted his body weight, staring up at Micah with an annoyed mocking inquiry. "Is that right? Now why don't you spend as much time with your boys and doing what you're supposed to do, instead of worrying about me."

"As much as you like to disagree, I'm an important part of our little inner circle of street rats. I've barely been around the Manhattan newsies yet and believe it or not I generally care about others' welfare, more than myself."

"And I'm thinking your saying I don't?"

He grinned, all too aware how artfully his comments ruffled Spot's feathers, and I knew the look of triumph because usually I was the one pushing Mr. Conlon to his limits. "Am I?"

"Don't talk about what you don't know," I rebuked, surprised that finally I was the one dressing him down when he had spent the past four years chasing me around in circles. Micah and the others seemed just as surprised I was voicing my opinion in such a delicate manner and my hold on Spot tightened, for support and trying to tell how he felt about my intrusion. "No leader puts himself before others and is still respected, is obeyed without question. You know very well that he's put another's life before himself every time the choice has come up. And I can promise you he's done it for every one of us."

"You've got her well trained," Micah retorted after seconds of ticking silence.

"She ain't gonna be trained by nobody. We've all given up on dat notion by now," Spot snapped and smirked at me when I pinched his arm.

Racetrack piped up, "At least he's given up."

"Listen," Micah began, his hands in the air for the first civil gesture I had witnessed all day. "He was staring me down and I had to meet up his challenge, alright? And you can't chew my head off fer wondering what he's doing in Manhattan all this time."

"Let's count da reasons, shall we? Manhattan's my ally and Jack's my friend, there's more trouble around here and right now Brooklyn's reputation is saving it, I have plenty of capable seconds, I'm back dere constantly, almost every day, Venice lives heah…" Micah scowled and the floor suddenly became quite interesting, enough to hide my blush. "Oh, and one more. My baby sister lives heah."

"Why does your sister live here and you don't?" For all his annoyances and deliberate instigations he seemed genuinely puzzled.

Spot threw his hands in the air in a desperate gesture, "Have you seen Brooklyn lately?"

"It's too dangerous Micah," Camelot reasoned with more articulation than her brother, although her cool calculation was foreboding, devotion to Spot raising once he had been challenged. "Not only for its certain state of affairs because I can swear to you I can handle that and put all those boys in their place, but certain blood relations can put us both in compromising situations."

"But everybody knows your brother and sister." I sincerely pitied Micah now as much as Spot would be offended if he ever found out I sympathized with him, but he seemed genuinely concerned and confused.

"We're not hiding that. If we were living under the same roof it would mean more vulnerability and more chances of leverage, especially among the war mongrels and those fools who live near them. Brooklyn's finest. There's more of a chance of using me to get to him or even vice versa."

"I was thinking that'd be the other way around. Since you don't live together it's easier to get to you."

"You'd think that," she shrugged it off and gestured for a forward march, which I willingly obliged. Today had been simplified with Camelot accompanying us, relieving the tension for the lodging house, but silently wished that Micah had chosen not to join us till the hour grew later and we were already settled, or at least kept his temper and chose his words decisively. For now as an affronted Camelot and Racetrack lead the way I was forced between Micah and Spot, becoming the bridge for their misunderstandings and lucky me felt every spark and flare of their indignant contempt for the other.

The troubled waters forced my energy in the logical place and I placed all emphasis on shouting out headlines and perfecting them, adapting a pitiful act when captivating headlines weren't enough, leaving Micah and Spot to sulk. Their arguments proved helpful since the attention was drained from Camelot and Racetrack and they were full of more freedom than they had been all along.

"Wad are you smiling about?" Micah's inquiring voice wrenched me from my reveries and delicately I turned from Spot, but not enough to leave him out of my eyesight, just so Micah could be there too. He followed my gaze and he was never so easy to read, but as he stared at Spot guiding one of our youngest newsboys, Hornet, in the art of the slingshot, his defenses and brambles that had surrounded Spot's essence from the beginning seemed to shatter around him, or at least soften enough.

"How longs dis been going on?" he demanded and I physically shifted away from him like I could metaphysically do so, glancing back to Spot where he was positioning Hornet's hands just so. "Lani, I asked you…"

"I'm not going to let you shame me, Micah," I snapped and he turned on me unexpectedly, an incredulousness clouding his features and defensively I crossed my arms. "It started from the beginning and I won't listen to your lectures. I know you don't like him but you don't know him, so if you have anything bad to say keep it to yourself or I'm walking away from you. And my names Venice. Not Lani!"

Silently he stared at me and held a gaze I wasn't determined enough to hold, becoming the Micah I knew as he did not reveal the slightest emotion, probably shifting between turning from me entirely or only partially. In the quietest tone he finally said, "Alright Venice."

Stunned into silence I stared up at him, attempting to decipher his cruel trickery and meanings I would have to discover for myself but he trained sincerity for me to see. Noticing my suspicions he explained, "Your right, I have no right to waltz in here and judge you and yours. As much as I don't understand it, I'm the outsider now and this is your home, you're happier than I've ever seen you. Venice is your name now."

"Damn right." As firm as my voice was beneath it I was trembling awfully. The realizations were just as starting to me, when a few weeks prior I was damning the newsies for everything they were worth.

"It isn't meant to be right, it's meant to be raw and flawed."

"He'd like that," I smirked, glancing towards Spot who was selling another paper before Hornet came bounding back, retrieving the stone although he could just as easily find another, and like a retrieving dog he handed the slingshot and rock back to Spot and spun around, waiting to be instructed in the art of the slingshot. Feeling my eyes on him he turned my way, goofily smiling and waved before Hornet's impatience captured his attention again and the older boy positioned him for long range distances.

"If you're happy I can't complain," he murmured and as much as I tried to eliminate the grin I couldn't do so just yet, but eventually could replace it with a triumphant smirk and finally a sincere smile.

"Thank you. And how about you, any drastic changes at your sinkhole?"

"Plenty, but none that are important enough to mention. Caleb's doing fine and I'm beginning to think Bruce has found a girl by the way he's been acting."

"Who would go with Bruce?" I teased, and although he laughed Bruce's absence didn't give it the full effect. Something sharp inflicted my side and my yelp was only a small indication as I leapt a foot away, scowling at the bright red marble as it rolled undecidedly upon the brown cobblestone. Already knowing who was the culprit I looked up and out and glared at Spot, who glanced around and raised his hands in the universal gesture of helplessness. It was an unconvincing act when his tiny minion was doubled over with laughter and his conniving smirk shattered any illusion of innocence.

"Thanks boys," I called out, picking up the red marble and twisting it in my fingers so the sun shone upon it expertly, and once they got their hopes up that I would retaliate by returning it to them I pocketed it. "It's the prettiest one."

"You're breaking this child's heart!" Spot scolded, passerby's turning their heads, the distance between us causing our conversation to be in a series of shouts. It wasn't very dramatic since Hornet was still giggling beside him and Spot clamped a hand over his mouth. "Don't you see? You have pushed this child over the edge, and now he's lost his mind. You have made this boy insane!"

"Do not smite me almighty heavens," I pleaded, clasping my hands in prayer. "Citizens, do not bind my hands nor lock me up!"

"You deserve nothing less, scoundrel," he challenged, coming towards me as Hornet tailed him, still grinning.

"Don't come any further," I shouted, taking a step back and he seemed to pause in his travels to catch my eye, intimidate me. Spontaneously he bounded forward, taking the steps two at a time in a swift leap and squealing I turned on my heel and dashed away, forgetting Micah and his confusion, forgetting the scorn of busybody's and matrons.

"Hornet, save me!" I screeched but before he could choose sides Spot was taking down his prey, tackling me and squirming and laughing I made a failing attempt to be released as we wrestled upon the damp ground in the frigid air, with the highest and lowest of people passing us by, out of our lives and out of our dimension. We coexisted with each other but never would run along the same line, and I was all the happier for it as he leaned over me, dirt smudging his nose.

Her soft curse, a downgraded version of a young and sheltered sailor eager to prove his worth and his status through miniscule means with a slight "damn it" decorated our simple bunkroom, hollowing and ricocheting from the emptiness of the room, too quiet to fill more than the crevices of bunks that surrounded us. There was no need to be loud when we were each other's confidants, locking ourselves in a room without a lock but nobody dared enter our barricade, nobody gaining the nerve since few were even here and they had better things to care to during this brief break from the chilling wind and breaking our backs selling newspapers nobody wanted to buy.

Further expanding her frustrated curse she continued, "Every time the pinky nails grow to a pretty length I end up biting em off. Now they're just as ugly as the others."

Miserably I glanced at my own bitten nails in their dismal condition, broken in the prime place to use as lethal weapons. Dangling my fingers into her face I proceeded to slash a finger across my throat, emphasizing my thoughts.

"Spot and I were wrestling once and I made him bleed with this nail," she shared with a mischievous grin that gave not quite so subtle hints the accident wasn't entirely sincere. "It was an accident at the time."

"Do you think I can get Jack to wrestle with me?"

"Just run behind him and tackle him. Then he has no choice."

"I think his first choice would be to soak me into the floor."

"Nah, Jack's not like that."

"Sorry Camelot, maybe you've been in France the past few days," I reminded her, still feeling the chill of the water leaking into every ounce of me even though in a week I had managed to dry off. In those seven days I had somehow managed to avoid Jack, or maybe he was putting as much effort into avoiding me. It was no simple task; retiring to my own room earlier than intended and staying in there later, attempting not to notice him at the distribution office and not going to Tibby's as if my life depended on it.

"The two of you might not be getting along now but I promise he won't hurt you if you jump on him. The most he'll do is shove you off and give you the look." His looks were infamous and irritating just the same, guaranteed to put a stop to whatever you were doing. Forgetting the book she was skimming upside down she pushed herself forward on the bunk, enough to get her head onto the mattress instead of dangling off with the rest of her torso. "That's how you should make peace with him again! The next time you see him alone and not in such a bad mood just jump on him."

"Go back to reading, Camelot," I advised and turned the stained cover of the book so I could glance at the title. _Don Quixote. _

Following her lead I used the floor to push myself up and into a sitting position. She continued, "Trust me, it will work. You're talking to the professional. He was irate when I left one night and didn't tell him so I could meet with my friend, Nightingale. After not talking for about two weeks he was walking back home and I jumped on him and he ended up showing me a few new moves for a fight."

"That's because you're you," I moaned bitterly and her placid expression hardly encouraged me to continue when frustration was overpowering curiosity.

"He has a lot more reason to stay angry with me than he has for you."

"Think about it, Cam, I have. There's no way we're ever going to be on equal terms here."

"We're both newsgirls Venice."

"Yeah but you're Brooklyn and Manhattan. You're Spot's little sister, giving you more points than I'll ever have. You have lived here for years and before that you knew everyone. You've been their sister for years."

Unhesitatingly she replied, "You think being related to the almighty makes it easier? He's respected and hero worshipped by some but others despise him, and trust me I receive the brunt of their dislike just because we share the same blood. And since I have lived here for years I've harassed them till they're pulling out their hair."

"Being a Conlon gets you an immediate pass into being a newsie," I reminded her. "Nobody will dare ostracize you just in case word gets back to Spot. Besides, they don't want to. You're like fucking royalty."

"I have worked so long and so hard to earn my own reputation and legacy, parting myself from the great Spot Conlon, just so I don't always have to be Spot's sister. If anybody is afraid to start trouble with me I'm hoping it's because they fear me and not my brother. Stop complaining about how hard you've got it; it's not easy on my side of the fence either. Try living all your life knowing the same people and who have watched you make more mistakes than you like admitting. If you don't like the way you're being treated you need to earn your own reputation and change it."

"And how should I do this? By beating the shit out of anyone that crosses me?" I grumbled, imaginary scenes traveling above my head in a rendition for dangerous thoughts. I was not thick headed enough to believe I could fight half the newsboys that lived here, and knew of the consequences that would ensue if I dared to. "Let's try this scenario. Even if by some miracle I manage to soak one of them their friends will probably ostracize me even more and turn against me. Never mind facing Jack's wrath."

"If someone is harassing you, say it's Snitch going at it again, you have every right to stand up for yourself. Maybe their friends won't be happy with you but any reasonable newsboy will see he deserved it. Jack's tough but fair. He'll understand and while he will resent it at first he'll give Snitch a harder time. To make matters worse he'll never live down that a girl soaked him."

Pondering her words and already imagining my victories we quieted and she returned to dangling half off the bunk and reading a book she's probably read over ten times now. Finally I reminded her, "the boys are probably ready to head out by now."

"They can walk up here and get us," she returned, annoyed I had interrupted her reading and scowling I removed myself from the bunk, boredom having me pursue more intriguing things than watching her read.

Slithering through the bunks with no definite purpose but the magnetism of boredom to guide my wake I glanced at Camelot before pulling the door open and leaving quickly as if I was not allowed to move freely in my own home, as if she above all dictated my course of actions when she was my partner in defying them. Leaning for a moment against the cool wood probably infested with all sorts of insects, I walked the few short steps to the staircase, knowing somebody would be downstairs, somebody more amusing than a girl with a book.

It was an impulse action with no clear direction that kept me to the landing and sinking at the stairs, absorbed by the shadow the late afternoon sun offered through windows that were tightly locked, my toes meeting the edge of the wall perfectly. Their characteristic chauvinistic alpha male growls and groans were replaced by quiet consent and insecurity lined the voices that I could hear, some distinct and some blending with the harmonious synchronization of a male voice. Clearly there were no women present, except for me straddling the staircase and absorbing their every word.

"Did he swipe anything?" a voice I did not recognize was asking when my ears adjusted to their carefully inaudible tones and I shriveled slightly in anticipation for the reasons behind their cautious voices.

"Not by the looks of it," Jack replied, exhaustion and worry prevailing over the tense anger that brewed beneath. "I wasn't too worried about him stealing. Sure, the boys have their knick knacks they've found over the years, a favorite marble, and Camelot's got her books, but not many thieves are after that. I'm a bit more worried about what I'm not willing to loose."

"Of course you are, Jack," Honcho affirmed with sympathy in his air and helplessness in his voice. "You did a head count this morning?"

A deliberate and sharp reply answered, "Of course he did. Three times over, like every morning." Spot's voice had grown more distinguishable than Jack's had and relief waded over me as it did with each of his reappearances. He was between our two boroughs and around every other one ceaselessly and we were never quite sure where he was sleeping that night.

Her voice blew the hair around my ear as she whispered, "Couldn't resist seeing where you were off too," and irritated at this interruption I gestured wildly at her aloof calculating face. Cautiously she settled beside me, her beloved book cradled in her arms.

"Did you have to bring it?" I gestured disgustedly towards her book.

"Yes as a matter of fact I did. Just in case we get caught we can say we were just reading."

"On the top of the staircase?"

"Okay fine, I couldn't leave it." Satisfied I turned back to listening and Camelot begrudgingly joined me.

"Not a one of them saw the kid last night, I made sure of it," Jack announced surely and I could vouch for him on that, drifting with a feeling I was lacking a key in the information. "I caught him leaving and chased him down the street. He disappeared and I wasn't gonna go looking for him, had my own kids to think about."

"Do you know who he was?" It was another strike on the tallies for voices I did not know but when I looked for Camelot's reaction she seemed to know it well and did not hold any significance.

"Who's that?"

"Hush," Camelot shushed me and crept closer to the stairs, peering over the railing to the scenic rendezvous below.

"It was too dark last night for Jack. After the rain it was cloudy, remember?" Racetrack chimed in and I couldn't help but wonder if Mush and Blink were down there too. Seems everybody had been invited to the party but us.

"Couldn't see a thing," Jack consented before his voice became sharper and more resolute. "There'll be guards from now on, something I should've started a long time ago. Watches at the front door and in the bunkroom. It will switch every two hours so you boys are awake enough to sell them papes."

"Is it just going to be us?" Racetrack wondered in bemusement.

"I'm counting on you Race. I'll be doing it and I'll recruit Mush and Blink into it later, maybe even Swifty or Skittery. But this is staying between us down here, got it? If one of my kids finds out about this that ain't supposed to know I'm coming after each and every one of you and breaking every bone in your body."

Talk like that wouldn't abide well in most situations but under the most extreme pressures most people will allow unusual circumstances to slide. With a murmur of consent their meeting had been adjourned and exchanging swift glances we knew it was past time to crawl away and into the bunkroom. We scrambled away as the first sounds of footsteps on the stairs fell.

Brinks were conceived from knowing too much instead of too little and we separated from aiming too high and focused on the immediate risk of betting too low so disappointments could not touch our turned heads. In our determination to not hurt ourselves and our unconscious removal from reality for our protection we forgot the balance between too much and too little. Now we were watching the consequence curl in half before the crackling flames disintegrated it, the ink running down the page about the insignificant ramblings of a journalist paid too high. Each of us had sold less than half the papers we bought and Spot only managed that much from intimidation, and when Camelot and I used that maneuver all we got was dirty looks and upturned noses. Through the accident of me flipping my hair beside the wrong person we discovered pouting lips, flirtatious glances and rubs sold papers, something we knew a long time ago but were too proud to use. Once you're just trying to survive in forty degree weather with a man slipping into your home at night you come to know you're not too good for anything.

There'd be no protesting words or distracting purrs to deter the determination in his dark blue eyes, the porcelain dusk shadows sweeping across half his strong face and the fire in his eyes keeping them alive. With a grateful smile I took his faded gray over shirt, liking the way our hands touched, pulled it over my head and lifted my thick hair out of it. He grinned as I waved my arms, demonstrating how it fell over my hands and being oversized it gave me more warmth. Perhaps in some depths of the cracks and blisters stretching in his smile he was just pleased it had not started a fight. I was more than a little proud I had submitted without too much trouble and kept away the bitterness from a sweet gesture.

"I'm sorry," I offered sincerely and he looked down where I rested on his chest, just trying to remember notions of protection and invincibility were not quite true and if left to feel too secure then we are the most vulnerable, and my guard was not something I was willing to let go of. Not yet anyways.

"Wad are you sorry for, Ven?" he inquired seriously as if he had not teased me about the matter moments ago as we kindled the glow of the fire within a patch of dirt broken between cobblestones, the ground being wet enough so we did not fear the flames would spread.

I gestured towards its embers and what fed the beast while I slipped a dime into a hand I knew would reject it. "For making you buy those extra papers."

"Nothing's made me happier." Sighing as I looked up at him he stated, "I couldn't care less about a dime. I knew we wasn't going to sell that many papes."

"So why did you let me tawk you into it?"

"So you'd stop nagging me," he jested and I elbowed him in the stomach, happily listening to him squirm for air before the dime found itself once again in my hand. His fingers steadily moved around my collarbone and the familiar shiver coursed through me as his hand lingered over my neck, memorizing the gooseflesh and only making it grow. Placing my hand atop his I glided it towards the beginnings of my shirt, showing him where the chain was and he played with it, turning it over and over.

"You still don't know how come they're looking for this piece?"

"Nope."

Groaning I returned his sigh, "We don't know much, do we?"

"Nope," he repeated and I knew he was smirking down at me. "I love this time of day. Dusk. Whatever fancy word you have for it. The whole world comes to a standstill and they're all out here, watching it with us, waiting for the earth to start spinning again so they can go back to the way things used to be. But there's no rush. Everything looks so different, more elegant. Hell, I bet even I look good."

"Don't expect me to tell you ya always look good, because I won't do that," I said seriously and peering up at him through the dusk wonderland he seemed mortally offended. "You're a cocky bastard already."

"Damn right I am, and I have every reason to be. And I ain't gonna let a mangy girl tell me otherwise," he snorted, pushing me away from him and I eyed him for a calculating moment to predict his reactions before I leapt upon him, pushing him to the ground and grinning victoriously above. Refusing to let a mangy girl win he reversed our positions and I was suddenly upon my back and staring up at the world but as he tried to climb atop me my knee found his stomach. Reactively he leapt to his feet and defensively hugged himself and once he was upright I followed him. This war was only half over and once I was steady he wrapped my arms behind my back and I wrapped my legs around his knees.

"That ain't very smart. You're gonna be below me when I fall," he reminded me so I thrust myself into him and he stumbled backwards, knocking me into a wall and pitifully I scowled up at him and shook my sore head. "That was your own damn fault."

"So is this," I snapped and kicked him back into the wall and he stumbled a few paces but before I could scream a warning he had tripped over a stack of hay and still clinging to each other we were airborne before falling to a ground softened by matted hay. Grinning successfully I was on top and I brushed his hair out of his eyes, leaning down and pecking him on the lips leaving him hungry for more. Surprisingly he did not force me down anymore but picked a piece of straw out of my hair and his hands rested on my hips as I leaned down conspiratorially.

"We should go somewhere tonight."

"Weah?" he inquired bemusedly and I blushed at the way he was looking at me in this different light and maybe it was the dusk or maybe it was because for the first time he seemed to appreciate me there and nothing scandalous was rushing through his head.

"Create our own scandal," I smirked. "Are you in Brooklyn or Manhattan tonight?"

"That depends on what you're up to," he bated.

"That depends where you are."

"Manhattan."

"I'll leave through my window and you'll just go out the front door. We'll claim this city."

"Spot-a-roo!" Camelot's voice penetrated the hay and he rolled his eyes at the nickname. "Cam of the lot!"

"Cam of the lot?"

"Live the pain. I have to," he smartly replied. "Tonight after most of em have gone to bed."

Her voice came in soft giggles to Racetrack's inaudible mutterings and Spot's face hardened enough to get him to his feet and following him around the hay he found her leaning against the wall Spot had thrown me into a moment ago, Racetrack in front of her with a finger around her belt loop. Irritated he demanded, "Wads all dis?"

For a simple moment neither noticed us, lost in the fantasy world that was too real to them and he pulled her loop and brought her closer and she ran a hand down his chest tauntingly but as he leaned down she pulled the cigar from his mouth. Before he got close she shoved it in her mouth. Speaking around it she said, "Not when you can smell Spot in the air."

"His whiff is everywhere," he complained, still attempting to pull her in for a kiss but she intervened with a cigar. "Then let's go somewhere he hasn't been."

He crossed his arms and prepared to listen to the rest of this conversation and I was torn between intervening, torn between Spot's good side and curiosity and then a loyalty to Camelot and Racetrack, a bond of sisterhood that should not be broken.

"And where's that? My big brother's been everywhere," she teased and put out the cigar on the wall before slipping it into his pocket.

"Not my places. We won't let him come in," he grinned back.

"So what would we do once we got to this promised land?" she hinted and took his hands in her smaller ones.

Thoughtfully he began, "Well, we'd be free without dog boy leaning over your shoulder. We could do anything we'd like. Watch the stars, talk…"

"We do that every night."

"But this would be special," he promised. "We could dance to the music in our heads. We could do Indian dances for the first snow. We'd see things we never knew were possible and know more beautiful things than anybody else has ever dreamt of, because we would be with each other, lying in each other's arms with piles of blankets to keep out the cold. And when I would look at you I would know I'm the luckiest man in the world to know your name, to know you, and be aware that other men have seen the most beautiful thing in the world but only I know how it can break your soul. And I would tell you this and you would hear it and smile like you're doing right now and I'm always going to know by that look in your eyes that you love me half as much as I love you."

She was silent for a few moments and it might have been the dusk light but I could have sworn I saw tears in her eyes. "And maybe I could say words half as beautifully as you do. I want to be with you and let your hair get in my eyes, I want to know Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra would write about us like he wrote for Don Quixote. I want to whisper to you everything I've ever felt and knowing it could never even get close to what I feel when I even think of you. I want to find that promised land, Racetrack, even if I have to wait for you a hundred years."

"You'll never have to do that," he promised her and I glanced behind me and found Spot had vanished and was just now rounding the corner, making his entrance loud and obnoxious as he slipped an arm around me.

"Where'd you two wander off to?" he demanded protectively and glared daggers down at Racetrack but I knew just from that arm around my shoulders that it was all an act. Silently I thanked him and commended him for his maturely and toleration, leaving as their speech ended so they would not know he had heard.

"Camelot was just trying to sell her last papes," Racetrack said defensively.

"Ya best not have been rubbing up against the customers like a floozy, just like Venice here was doing," he lectured and I stomped severely on his foot.

Quickly Camelot responded, "No sir." If she had anything to hide he did not already know her cover would be blown because she was not behaving with her usual suaveness. She had to explain nothing when she had not recovered from the vulnerability Racetrack had induced in her.

"Sir? Camelot…" Spot warned but did not press any further as Camelot seemed to flame back to her usual self.

"And weah did you two lovebirds wander off to?" she demanded of us and caught both of our faces protectively, deeming his domineering presence.

"That ain't none of your business little girl."

"We were trying to snitch dinner from a lil' cart we saw but there were too many coppers on the beat," I explained and gazed only at Racetrack, having noticed the furious glare he showered upon Spot, reversing the positions between Spot and Camelot, Racetrack and I. I knew he did not believe me but was spared from thinking the worst. For the moment.

"Camelot and I found a lil place down at Little Italy. It's real nice in there and cause I speak their language I can get us in for just a few coins," Racetrack announced proudly and ignored the world for Spot, trying to gage the impression this has made upon him and the possibility that Racetrack was beginning to demonstrate his worth. Understanding exactly what he was doing Spot revealed nothing and did not even seem to be considering his proposal.

"Are you tawkin about Tuscany? Well I know some people that can get us in free," Spot announced and as Racetrack slowly nodded his head he withered before strained eyes, his shoulders slumping as he was thrown to the side not worth his grain in salt. "You two run along to it. I got better places to be."

Looks ricocheted between the square we had numbly formed and all incredulousness was directed towards Spot before Camelot and I glanced victoriously at each other and their giddiness was contained in secret smiles reserved for the world we could not touch upon. Spot offered me his arm like a practiced gentleman when they were too shock for speech and as I twisted my hand around it we walked in the other direction. Leaning close to his ear I whispered, "What's gotten into you?"

"What do you mean what's gotten into me? I'm just letting my sister and the man madly in love with her wander around the city alone." He smirked down at me, his laughter touching everywhere and grinning I prodded him.

"Tell me. What's up your sleeve?"

"Nothing, Venice. You have my word. Of course I know one of my birdies was across the street and will be following them so he can tell me exactly what they do when nobody else is around, and can intervene if things go too far."

"You're cruel," I teased but for all my snickering and manipulating his devious plan stirred something in me and as we walked on I watched the shadows we cast in the growing night, watched the men climb their streetlights and let them glow.

"Wassamattah?"

"Nothing…Camelot's my friend, that's all."

"Damn right that's all. If they're not doing anything wrong there won't be a problem. And if they are if you're her friend you'll want to stop it as much as I do."

"Racetrack and Camelot are both my friends and this is a lil' breach on their loyalty."

"No, it's me who's breaching their trust. Now don't blame yourself for another minute. How can you stop big bad Spotty?"

He chuckled and I leaned in closer to him as we scanned the streets of Manhattan and with a moment of blinding trust and without thinking I said "I want to show you something."

"I've been to Medda's a thousand times, kid," he groaned hesitatingly but I pulled on his arm with pouting lips and doe eyes.

"Not like this you haven't."

Taking a wild leap of faith and putting it in the person I most believed in I lead him around to the alleyway that had marked my home for so long, given a landmark to something so precarious and dangerous, a trespassers cove. He was alert and sensitive to everything that swayed and leaned down to pet an alley cat giving up the chase of a mouse. It rubbed against him and purred, finding a kindred soul even if they were different species of Tom Cats but still doing the same stray cat strut. I pulled against the door that had been rusted in my weeks of absence, already seeming primitive. Slowly I pulled the door back and he straightened himself, staring at the room in confusion.

"Are you frightened?" I asked mysteriously and his eyes found my face and hardened there.

"No."

"You shouldn't be." Reversing everything we thought I allowed my legs to dangle over the edge, pushing off the ground for the three foot drop to the bottom of the room, landing with a harsh 'welcome home' on the brick floor. Rubbing my knees that had locked from the impact I moved away from the door as Spot leapt into the room and we closed the door behind us and with it the chilling wind and the present. It was a fair trade for the past and a wild furnace as my past and present collided.

"Very nice. Now mind if I ask what we're doing in here?"

Ignoring his deliberate questions painstakingly I crawled to the furthest corner of the room and beneath dangerous metal equipment, pulling out a box I had so lovingly hid, filled with nothing of much importance; two leaves from the fall, half a cigar that had fallen from some gentleman's pocket, and a bow from my mother. "My life in a box."

"I see you been down here plenty of times."

"I just wanted to show you," I admitted guiltily, playing with the dirt on the ground with my shoe, ashamed and downcast like an excited child showing a drawing to a parent only to find out they did not care at all. "It used to be important to me. It used to be my life and I wanted to share that part with you."

"Venice, I want to see all the pieces but make me understand why this furnace is so important," he said sincerely and his honesty was something I could not run from.

Suddenly insecure about my humble beginnings I forced myself to stare up at him and quietly but honestly said, "I used to live here."

He was silent for a moment as he took everything in, seeing me in this room and glancing down at the dirt packed floor, a dead rat rotting in the corner and the dangerous flames of the furnace so close. He knocked on the roof to make sure it was solid. "How long have you lived here?"

"Few years before I met you."

"I always knew there was something down here," he grinned triumphantly, watching me like he had just discovered me here. "Whenever it was just a couple of us and the theater was quiet I ran to tell Medda to look down here. She said it was just the rats and the cats Tom Catting around. I never believed her."

He was laughing now and I smiled slowly and shyly and with a soft smile he meandered closer to me. "You shouldn't be ashamed of where you came from, Venice. Never be embarrassed of that. I wasn't expecting riches. So you lived here alone for years?"

"Only since I was eleven. It's easier than it sounds."

"Nah, that ain't easy, that ain't easy for anybody."

"No adults. How bad can life be?" I teased, unwilling to return to the hardships I had faced in the beginnings of my independence and he understood with one brief look and empathized, because from what he had told me he had never lived in paradise either.

"And you were never caught down here?"

"Nope. Had a few close calls but never once spotted."

"Damn," he said in admiration and I traced a finger over the wall, removing the soot that had stained there for so long.

"I wanted to see it one last time."

"It's not going anywhere."

"No, but I am," I said and he looked inquiringly at me. "I don't want the past to control me. I want to be holding the reigns and call for it when I want to think about it. But this place isn't part of me anymore."

"No, I guess it's not," he said simply. "It can't hurt you anymore. Whatever happened in your past, it won't touch you."

"That I can't be too sure of," I admitted honestly.

"Well then I won't let it. You think whatever's chasing you can get past me and Jack and Camelot and all the rest of the people that's fallen in love with ya over the weeks."

"No," I said determinedly, placing my hands against him and trying to keep from looking up at him too adoringly. As he stared down at me with a look I could not place for once I was not squirming and sheltering myself from it but I embraced it and loved it in all its glory.

"Let's jail break," he said and I agreed, reaching up to push the door open and crawling up and out of that god damned hole, hoping I would never have to return to it again as he closed the door behind me. I thought it was the door clanging shut but it was his stomach protesting this way of life and he grinned at me.

"I can't believe you," I chuckled as he pulled me around the alleyway. "Nothing embarrasses you, does it?"

"Why should I be embarrassed? I've seen you do worse," he challenged and lowered his voice for secrecy as he said, "What embarrasses you, Venice? It doesn't need to."

"Plenty does. Most people are embarrassed at whatever they do that receives disapproval."

"Hang what they say, who are they to tell you what's right and what's wrong," he said determinedly and it circulated around my head for the truth in his words and the foolishness in mine. It was a mechanical reaction though, humiliation something we're persuaded to feel once we can feel at all.

"Spot," Micah hissed as he emerged from the shadows beside the door, a monstrous statue that had been guarding our door and we had not even seen him upon emerging. Spot's silhouette darkened and he was more shamed by not being alert enough to notice Micah than with Micah appearing at all.

"What were you doing there boy?" he growled and I placed a reassuring hand on Spot's shoulder.

"Just came to tell you Big Al wants to see you."

"What for?"

"Who's Big Al?" I demanded but my feminine voice was just insignificance in their chauvinistic minds as I was returned from their geometric societies and links of secrets and their faces paralleled each other while I faded into nothing more than an accessory.

"He didn't tell me why, just wanted to tawk to ya," Micah responded stonily as he gave away nothing, less because he knew nothing and more because it was digging under Spot's skin and messages weren't relayed for the sake of petty dislike. Arched eyebrows and a steady glare did nothing to his resolution and Spot abandoned the attempt for the urgency of a meeting with a man I had never heard of. Remembering my presence when he had not forgotten at all Spot gestured towards me and I turned to leave with him before a steadying grip found my arm.

"She can't go wid ya," Micah responded mockingly and Spot's aggravation was rising.

"I can go wherever I please."

"No ya can't."

"My girl goes wherever she pleases, and she goes where I go," Spot returned determinedly and I stared surprised at him for his miniscule speech.

"Big Al doesn't like no girls in his house, you know that. And definitely not a street rat." His harsh voice rang in my ears and scraped me like a piece of jagged glass and unsure I stared up at Micah, never hearing those words ring from his mouth and definitely never directed at me.

Spot had his voice before I had mine and he stepped in front of me furiously. His voice quaked with rage as he said, "Don't ya ever call her a street rat again. She don't even come close to them."

Softer now and apologetically he replied, "She can't go with you."

It was a deep inhale and exhale before Spot consented and did not say a word as he spun on his heel and walked to the edge of the alley without looking back at me. Desperately I watched where he was and leaned against the wall like the weight I carried was more than I could support, or maybe I was just tired of having to play guessing games. Micah's voice cut into my thoughts. "He's not abandoning you."

"I know," I said bitterly and pleaded, "Can't we just go back to the lodging house?"

It was not even a turn of the corner before Micah had indulged in conversation with an old friend and I was left standing on the sidelines uncomfortably, in front of Medda's and the life I had thought I had left behind.

A chuckling voice chided, "Now, now, now. What's a girl like you doing out all alone?"

"I ain't all alone. I'm wid him even though that's hard to tell." Realizing how sharp my voice sounded I took a restraining breath to keep my temper in check. "I'm sorry."

"Being a woman is difficult," he acknowledged simply and I nodded carefully to this well dressed gentlemen and he studied me beneath a bowler hat, twirling his black cane between his fingers and it spun a hole in the leaves on the ground. "They abandon you quickly."

"Not usually," I defended them wearily. "At least half the time they don't realize they're doing it."

"We're fairly thick headed," he concurred and bemusedly I stared back at him and trying to decipher his agendas and everything I could ever think about him but only found the carefully trained face of a man that does not want to reveal too much. Shifting uncomfortably I wondered where Spot was now and when we would reunite. "You look pale."

I titled away from him and smiled innocently, "The color of my skin."

"Are you ill?" There was the slightest traces of distaste as he addressed me and suddenly he was carefully reserved and coolly calculating beneath thick eyebrows. Disgustedly I stared back at him.

"Not yet."

Seeming to recognize his mistake like any man of good breeding should he apologized, "My apologies miss. But my sister has taken ill recently and I do not wish to share new infections with her."

"You have nothing to fear from me. Just tired out is all."

"Well you'll just have to come with me and get off your feet. My sister runs a saloon of sorts just down the street and I would be honored if you accompanied me there."

Years of the streets had taught me caution in the worst predicaments from the seemingly unlikely sources and uncomfortably I watched Micah where he stood flirting in all his glory and the tiniest spark of rebellion and of spite blared inside me, nearly possessing me. Perhaps he saw the savage glint sharpening my face because he blinked rather rapidly. Regaining composer I smiled and declined with a polite, "Thank you for the generous offer but I must be returning home."

"What if I insist," he said quietly, leaning against me and I took a quick step back.

"Don't trouble yourself."

"You're no trouble at all," he persisted, that cane of his running alongside my leg and I kicked it away with an annoyed squawk and outrageous stare.

"I don't know what you plan on doing but touch me with that thing again and I'll snap it in half."

There was no reply this time and I hoped I had affronted him enough to douse his advances but he drew closer to me and pulled the cane upon my back, yanking me closer until I was pressed against his chest and staring up at him, torn between fear and curiosity. "Don't deny me." His cliché outpourings would nearly be comical if it weren't for the sinister and slightly insane glimmer in his dark eyes that bounced and rebounded with the flickers of light. "You don't want to do that. You want to come with me and you want to feel appreciated, accepted and with them you never will. My kind appreciates true beauty and feminine charm."

Gliding with him towards the mouth of the alley I stepped into it as if doing a trance like waltz, the cane still pressed into my back and slightly confused I watched him still as his soothing words washed over me like silk, filling the crevices and doubts in my mind and charming everything into gold. With his hypnotizing eyes and rich voice I glanced around for the burden upon my head as it grew heavier with exhaustion and his face became so much more appealing. He smiling down at me through the trimmings of a mustache and my entire face was numb but I suppose I was smiling too when he beamed. The cane slithered away from him as he cautiously guided me further into the alley and like a schoolgirl taken under the wing of the man who never knew any rules my mind was gone from me as he ran a hand comfortingly up and down my arm.

"They mean well," I said honestly but not really sure what I was saying. "It's not their intention to make me feel like this."

"No," he said soothingly, comfortably running his hand along my collarbone. "Only I know how you are supposed to be treated. Your precious with us, we know your name."

"You do?" I blinked up at him, trying to organize my thoughts but finding nothing but a jumble of pieces that did not fit.

"There's not many who do not. And I'd be honored to know more of it."

"You would?" My voice was not like my own but frail and genuinely docile, ready to take his very word as law.

"And why shouldn't I? You're a proper lady, you know. Grace, beauty, charm," he soothed, easing my doubts as he lowered me atop a crate as to allow my confused state to gather their wits before I pressed onwards.

"Micah…"

"Micah will be angry with you for your disappearing act," he said truthfully but quietly as he kneeled before me, running his hands against my legs. He smiled at my shock. "Of that I am not naïve but it will not matter once you are returned."

"When will I be returned?"

"When you are ready."

"No," I squirmed uncomfortably, glancing around for signatures but everything had softer edges.

"I have upset you," he said quietly. "It was not my intention."

Dumbfounded but insecure I stared back at him and allowed his fingers to run through my hair and suddenly I was struggling just to remain awake and wanted nothing more to leave with him and find a place to lie down and sleep. It was an overwhelming sensation that he sensed through the connection our heated bodies produced and he looked deep into me, murmuring, "It's time."

"Watchoo doing over there, Venice?" Micah inquired as he rounded the corner and eyed me and the mysterious man that did not even have a name. He glanced up calmly and dismissed him with a flicker of the eyes and took my hand in his.

"Oi! You leave her alone, you!"

"Oh you're threatening me, are you?" he laughed and his hard laughter seemed to shake my foundation to the core and I slithered inside myself, crawling away and leaning against the brick wall, wishing I could disappear and seal myself in that wall, always to watch and never to be seen.

"It's the first step if you do not walk away," Micah challenged aggressively and strode into the alleyway, glancing with a mixture of disgust and pity as I kept quiet and sorted through the blinding pain that was surging through me. Groaning I put my head in my hands.

"I have no use for you so turn away and scamper back to your friends with your tail between your legs," he said harshly but his voice seemed to soften as something controlled him. "Micah, you do not want to be taking care of a young girl, there are so many greater things for you to be doing. Tell them you could not stop me, tell them there was nothing you could have done."

Micah laughed, his ferocity mirrored his laugh and every feature as he growled, "Obviously you do not know these newsboys. They'll have my head on a pole if something happens to her."

"I doubt that," he replied clearly, still staring at Micah but I had the distinct impression the words were for me. "They have more pressing troubles. What's a newsgirl to them?"

"Do you want to find out?" he hissed and they began surrounding each other, coolly calculating the other and determining the threat. It was Micah who predictably launched first and lunged into him and in a tangle of arms they wrestled, throwing their fists into empty flesh when granted the opportunity. Helplessly I watched them, feeling drained of all energy and desire to exist and like a white-hot-iron sword plunged into my head it exploded in shards of pain and I dropped to the ground, screeching as I held my hand, afraid I would feel fire there the pain was so scorching. Whimpering I laid upon the ground, seeing only pieces of the scenes before me, of their revolving legs, of a raised fist, of the finest blood that mixed with the dirt on the streets.

His strangled scream burst me into reality and weakly I raised myself to my hands and knees, disoriented and dazed but slowly preservation seeped over me and the adrenaline rush of the clamor of a fight began surging through me, sharpening senses and mind. Regaining control and trying to push away the throbbing of my head I dizzily returned to my feet and watched as Micah struggled in a head lock before reversed their roles and smashed his head against the wall. Sensing the dangerous possibilities of murder I pulled against the man's shirt, gripping it tightly and putting my foot out to stop Micah from charging again, knowing as I did this my attempts were futile. The man lashed out, throwing me viciously from him and I landed hard upon the ground as Micah leapt upon him once again and pulled him to the floor and as I tried to rejoin the battle a strong grip latched itself to me and held me to the ground, refusing to let me move despite my screams of protest. In a blinding redemption his force shattered the ground around them and her hair flew, glory and pride blazing in their eyes as they stared at each other over the bleeding men as a deafening roar overruled sensory noise and brought silence sweeping down into a terrified lane.

Trembling hands and shadowed disfigurements for the senses that had been obliterated and I blinked slowly against the dried blood around my nails from the vicious onslaught attained through the self-mutilated traditional bludgeoning of my lips, those minuscule pinpricks of pain the only thing that kept me from crying out and nothing compared to the pain Jack wanted me to suffer from the malice in his eyes. He felt the urge tingling in his hands and did not dare look at me, knowing exactly what was reflected in his face and every time he dared glance that determination seemed to reproduce. The new arrival of scratches embedded in skin nobody could see kept me away from their disappointed stares.

"Can you tell me again what she was doing alone, speaking to an unfamiliar man?" Spot said harshly, his voice burning everything it came in contact with and hopefully I looked up as my faults were overlooked. When I tried to catch Spot's eye he turned from me, his anger with me obviously not dissipated even though it had found a new target. At least this turn of conversation had Jack look up curiously.

"It was an old friend of mine who drew my attention," Micah admitted cautiously, flinching with the promises of retribution and he seemed to speak a little quicker with the anger reflected in everybody's eyes, now directed at him. He stumbled for the words as he glanced around at Jack who had ceased his pacing in the center of the room, Spot close to him, both waiting for an answer. "She's not a toddler and I figured she could watch over herself for a few simple minutes."

"Well you were wrong," Jack snapped ferociously and his hard eyes lingered on me reproachfully.

"Obviously," Micah drawled monotonously.

"Venice can watch over herself just fine!" Camelot defended my honor in a blaze of glory as the sudden impact of her words drove her to standing, her fists clenched and prepared to teach anybody who crossed her the seriousness of her words. She stood trembling with rage and glowering at them. She had bitten her tongue long enough and had managed well through the ten minutes of tension and rage.

"Don't bother, Camelot, just sit down," I said quietly from the side of my mouth, unwilling for their rage to turn to her.

"No I will not sit down!" she cried as she rounded again on the boys.

"Oh yes you will!" Spot shouted commandingly, casting his fullest authority and presence over her as he rose to his fullest height, his eyes not even daring her to challenge but weighing threats if she did disobey. Defiantly she glared at him, rising to her fullest height and regally tossing her flaming hair over her shoulders.

"It's past the time when your disapproval and your authority can keep me quiet," she said coolly and the tremor of shock waved over us all and there was a flinch as if the air itself was quavering. He stood spluttering and shocked at a loss for words before he came over himself and rolled up his sleeves for implied threats and when she did not fall apologizing he started towards her determinedly. Racetrack had been huddling in a corner keeping his peace, knowing it was a time for leaders to speak and others to keep silent, aware the time would arrive to shower his displeasure upon me but he removed from his hibernation and quickly bounded before her.

Surprisingly she pushed him out of the way and as he stumbled she gave a fleeting apologetic look which he caught and treasured, their silent communication forcing Racetrack to the realization that she would have to enter this battle unarmed and unprotected. Before Spot could viciously react for the blatant disregard for his authority she walked closer to him, a maiden warrior prepared to fight her last battle. "Spot, you're my brother and I love and respect you for it but that is not going to silence me, that is not going to keep me well behaved. Society sees me as a woman."

"You're a child," he growled furiously, his adamant beliefs of the structure of families wavering.

"To you I am," she said quietly.

"In this household you're a child, Esmeralda," he snapped, stomping his foot and throwing his arm pointedly in a demonstration for the resilient structure of the building. He glanced to Jack for confirmation and angrily Jack nodded.

"You seized power when you were fifteen, and the Brooklyn newsies regarded you as leader long before that," she argued powerfully. "You were not such a child then! For all the things you have done, for all the things I have done, I think we should be past the usual limitations of children."

"When I had a leader I was silent and I obeyed him, do not get high and mighty and think you do not have to do the same thing."

The helplessness of our situation rang clear over our heads as he continued, "When you're married and have children of your own you can make some of your own decisions. But your husband and I will always…"

"Will always what? Control me?" she screeched, pointing an accusing finger at him and her eyes sparkled with angry tears. "I can take good care of myself. Why are you men such fools? You have brute strength but women hold families together and families are the foundation of our world. We're your rock, and when you leave for a younger, more beautiful woman, or just leave after sex…"

"Esmeralda!" he shouted pointlessly because her indecency could not be stopped.

"…We stay and piece ourselves together, hiding our pain to care for others. We move on for our children, for our family, for our friends while you men hide in your room and drink away your sorrows so you can hurt more people." She gestured wildly to me and regretfully I entered the bray. "Poor Venice, always rebounding after you publicly humiliate her. Do you know the torment she suffers because she is with you and then regarded as your other whores? And you just lock yourself away."

He seemed ready to strike her but her onslaught was not over. "We don't need to be led around by the hand. She was targeted as prey because she is a woman. You know the man and you know his indecency, you know the hold he has over all he encounters and still you shout at her instead of finding that man and driving him out of town with torches in your hands. Micah fought for her, as did Racetrack and I, and I know you would've fought for her too."

"So she doesn't get hurt," Jack retorted. "But that doesn't mean that what she did was right, going off and talking to him."

"How the hell was she supposed to know who he was? A man initiated her in conversation and cast his fucking charms over her. He's done it to me. I know what it's like. You're not in one single state of mind, you're disoriented, confused, and helpless. You don't even want to exist anymore. You have no hope. You have no mind left. It's his, his will, are all that matters and you bend to it even if that means harming yourself.

"You lot should be ashamed of yourselves! She's sat there quietly and listened to your shouts and your disappointment, your condescending words always reducing her views of herself until she is nothing more than the woman you expect us to be. Docile, breakable, controlled and never bringing scandal. And you!" she roared, turning on Kid Blink who was blinking in a dark corner of the room. "I heard of those horrid things you said to her, and how you have been treating her. You hypocritical bastard, angry at her because you think she wants you all to act a certain way! And how do you react when she does something you disapprove of? You shun her, you yell, you taunt while she sits there frightened and confused, hating herself for the way she acted, counting her faults, counting her mistakes."

Silence fell suddenly like a blow from the outraged roars she had just devoted herself to, and shock ricocheted in the empty sounds she had left. Trembling she stood in the middle of the room, staring at them all. In awe and fear we stared at her, nobody daring to speak, not really having anything to say. In her silent glory and powerful fury she stared around at them all but when nobody made a move to react she turned on her heel and trotted up the stairs, having no where else to go and nothing left to say.

Spot was the first who started after her antagonizing speech and I tried to decipher the emotions on his face but he was too tightly restrained for even me to breech his impenetrable forces. He started after her and I twitched, ready to flee up the stairs and defend her but as he brushed past me I recognized the worry he had in his eyes and knew she'd be safe with him.

It was an awkward rendition as we were left alone together facing the consequence of brute sounds and struggling to remain above the riptides, and as I glanced at the features of my comrades I could sense their remorse and their concern, their reevaluation as they struggled with being wrong. Kid Blink was the first to silently leave and a moment after Micah announced, "I'll be leaving."

"No Micah, stay the night, you need to recover. It's the least we can do," Jack offered sincerely and Micah raised a hand.

"No Jack, the bullet missed me. I've just got a few bruises and I'd prefer to be in my home to lick my wounds."

"Micah…"

"It was no trouble. I did what I had to do."

They clasped hands as anger abated and Jack leaned in closer to say, "Thank you." Micah nodded solemnly and took a last fleeting glance at me but I could not find the right words as I stared back at him. He took his departure and let the door clang behind him before Jack shifted to lock it.

"And as for you," Jack rounded on me and inwardly I groaned and perhaps a little outwardly too from his raised eyebrow. He knelt before me as I rested on the stairs and sincerely inquired, "Are you alright?"

I started near enough to fall off the stairs and befuddled but bemused he watched me struggle to remain upright. "What, no lecture? No threats?"

"I think I've threatened you enough for one night," he said grimly and chuckled as vigorously I nodded my enthusiasm for this sudden change in the wind. "But are you? Okay?"

I nodded and he pressured, "What Camelot said he did to you…"

"I don't understand it."

"Nor do I," he admitted sincerely. Softly he said, "Look at me. I want you to know how relieved and happy I am that you're alright. Just cause I threw water on you doesn't mean I stopped giving a damn."

There were the inner beatings of wings inside me and the fluttering of relief and warmth at his monologue. Forcing me to look at him he seemed to understand the gratitude for it and he nodded reassured and lightly said, "But from now on do me a favor and don't talk to strangers."

"I think I can live with that."

"Good. Race you take the first watch, I'll come down at about eleven to relieve you. Venice get upstairs and get some sleep."

Nodding submissively, with no aspirations to argue anymore, Jack helped me to my feet and quietly I wandered up the stairs and as I almost reached the landing I paused with my foot suspended in the air. Turning around I saw Jack's burdened silhouette as Racetrack spoke to him in soft murmurs and without thinking I said, "I'm sorry."

He paused as he walked across the room and I turned around, sure he had heard me.


End file.
